robusto and pine, an easy sell
to sit away an afternoon
feet stirring, moving the fossils below
this is the west, in sweet disappear
my paper is a dry stock drinker today
so here we are, both barbate
i’m clicking the pen, the sterile
gun gone slung, slug gone
and nothing comes, no big breath
no holler, just a pleasant thought
of your selected works, the mt kearsarge
you buried here, you left it
in here, but i can’t see it today
meet me tomorrow, with pencil
Wednesday Poetry Prompt #528: a big blank poem
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