Steve Roberts
guitar
caustic chameleon of blue sand
you carry my life in your painted box
with the four winds howling
you are the body of a beloved friend
who slips through my fingers like smoke
in the cobalt night
in the carbon night streaked with grit
in the pale memory of night
while your drum feathers my bed with curses
I talk to you in a voice so hushed it would grind glass
sex
the memory of death
the oblivion of loss
rolling the years like pebbles
over and over till they shine
Page(s) 69
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