Greenpoint, Brooklyn

19May08

Austin to Brooklyn
the van feels light
as if something has gone,
someone

then back again.

White borscht, golombki
still flush in her face
she ascends,
guitar and pilot
chasing her scarlet wake,
no reentry.

Nothing is where she belongs.

It goes like this:
tank full,
she lights a fire
that burns us all
long and quiet,

the van rolling indiscriminately
forward.

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