Traipsing a Bend in the Banjo Strings

The same faces, the owl
Hooked on what the eyes capture

& cannot hold—
A gaggle of yellow feet traipsing

A bend in the banjo strings
The religious whiskey of our loneliness

Dripping from Tweety Bird lawn ornaments
The local kids disfigure

It is here in this glade of almost perfect moments
That summer dissuades a sparkling rocket

From its one gesture of a sparkling demise
It is here that evening is small & grassy

& our smiles are a dream written in the book
Of our enemies’ pink wounds

A kind of angst as empty as
The bottles we drink from ironically

& so we move like golden beetles
Streaked with the sex of an afternoon rain

& just like that a nothing-day has
All the vibrancy of everything we notice

It’s like we’re watching a man
Getting a blow job & evening

Walks in—a lucky stiff
& there is some shame

In this hug of blue sky
We give ourselves

Raymond Farr is author of ECSTATIC/.of facts (Otoliths, 2011), & Writing What For? across the Mourning Sky (Blue & Yellow Dog, 2012). His chapbook Eating the Word NOISE! was published in February 2015 by White Knuckle Press. Another full-length collection of poems Poetry in the Age of Zero Grav is due out from Blue & Yellow Dog Press in 2015. He is editor of Blue & Yellow Dog.

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