poem / ben gulyas

Because there is no photo
of that cloud mountain in britches over the corn,
the blood sun...
where bones come to nothing
and the rain sweeps
high into itself
over Mickey's Army Navy, Main & South,
Grove Road to Parkman,
Udall and Brosius...

bare to the night sounds
brave and dumb in the face of the colossus,
the goats, the cows, the bullheads in brown water,
the blood sun glowin under the blue
20 grand of centuries deep
and high as the heart beats...
and some eyes see it all,
where there is no photo,
over the corn,
chest to the green dark,
ears to the road
and breath to let it all build
where the cloud mountain
is forever inhaling...

no photo
just a breath-

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