Go outside when the moon is low and heavy,
see their yellow eyes wink in the fields
like lightning bugs, lure you in: I can see
the earth tremble as the countryside shadows

grow from dirt… I will mortar you in,
my Fortunado, stone-walled. Just listen to inner
vibrations, tones of green: follow your cool
blue origin, but fight like your yellow-eyed fire.

Feel the pain harrowing like freshly-scythed
wastelands with nothing to hold on to except
our madness, eyeless treasures, various types
of road-kill soaked in dirt and muck and flies.

My debt: peeling away with gentle dark exfoliation,
smooth my jagged bones, reform my kiss, my
breath as I’m sinking, sprouting along the river as
an offering to landscapes fragrant, with peppermint…


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