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Larry Bierman
First
You wore a robe.
I remember I was
awake and it was
always very early.
I couldn't wave
with my arm in a
sling like that.
I'd shout your shade.
June, the dreamstress,
as illusive as love
as real as anger
came close dangerously.
The night was dark
green and shiny
as what you wore.
We rode the globe.
You don't have to
sing to be sad, after
all what's done, is.
Horizontal sunbeams.
Steel
This is the land of guitars
and voices that can make you cry.
Young men with gimped ears
and an ageless look in their eyes
strum and fret
their voices smooth as smoke - songs
old as the hills.
The girls take it so seriously
even if it's all a joke, Jack.
But like the song says - give
a babe enough rope.
Then there's the old line,
you asking for my sun sign.
Sagittarius, without question.
We're both better than this.
What is this place?
We're backstage
in the out takes.
We're beats again in a basement.
Producer,
Producer,
O, where art thou?
Say you read an article
about blobs of bacteria
discovered at the edge
of the atmosphere,
and are they from space?
June said, "get off
my ledge." He thought
she said stage. He fell
hard, big as he was
and all.
Another Week
This is the time
wind whistles through
the hollow head
and old men greet you
with the rattle of bones.
This is the time earth
turns and tosses
under the heels
of well dressed mules.
Potatoes call to the clouds.
I've heard broken trees
beg for fire.
I've seen mean women
close their eyes.
This is the cutting edge.
Can you taste
the steel in your teeth?
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