Photo by: Erin Conroy
1. i found your hair on the monorail
2. sand hair, bread jar
3. licking the windows of green ocean night
4. hurry to the shelter, the missiles launched
5. horse in the cube
6. can't pull the missiles back; on rugs in a virginal steam
7. your hair wiped from the windows
- - - - -
1. and your hair liquid in my palms
2. a breast bare in the missile stroke
3. a star, pinched on a cloth
- - - - -
1. auctions the horse from its cube
2. cotton field pulleys creak slow
3. sits in the window slice; a missile laid in a field, white shell, national boundary
4. i fear i've written this once before
5. i fear i remembered this years before
- - - - -
1. and comes the horse from its cube
2. a monorail vanished into a garden
3. pressed my hand against the prairie veil
4. needle of swans ejaculates into a pail
5. in a pail, the arm thirsts of salt stars
6. and the missiles would pass overhead, cutting an arc through the blue rim
7. mountains of Korea etched in the concrete wall
8. traces the letters with fingertips; a thousand hills to scour, each body found, each body found 9. laying with the missile in a prairie
10. salts the cube with rotting horse-
-- Eric Larsen
