Lawless Encounter

They didn’t tell me how the hills
are so easy on the eyes
A cerulean batting cage
or some sort of leftovers

Last couch on the Mercury section
I am purchasing it just before the eclipse
the planets doing laps about me
lazier than a tree branch in the fog

You notice me sitting still
pouring over a blank ridge
we speak about a collapsibe windmill
and the tarnished voice we sometimes hear

The windowlocks are plainly worn out
the future is here at the guardrail
a pattern of voices not unlike our own
a wild nest of all of us
storming at the gate

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