The Drought at Goose Pond Trail
Rude like a dream of the crippling
Cross bound traffic. The strict
Decline of star power, radiated night.
I tell you I cant remember which dipper
You use to find the North Star
& I can’t see how they make a bear
Although a swan, sure, except the swan
Becomes a rock and every year
The cross wears its hankie to wipe
Away the snot you get with spring time.
I’m hobbled, I tell you. Just mine-swept
By the empty lake & her geese who,
Since the water S-shaped and evaporated
Just flew away, & now there’s only
The one carcass run over over by the Ruby
Teusday, that day before the Lent
When we gorge to celebrate want & loss.
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