a rose tinged naked night

by Steven J. Serafiani

And the smoke played in the egg shell courtyard,
the bullfrogs groaned beneath sandpaper feet,
the blue agave poured into thrift store ceramic,
the hum of blades oscillating imitations,
the city slept.

And the fourth finger left handers sleep with sheets off,
the lampyridae make cold light for a mate,
the black powder pepper still shaken on soil,
the click of the generators cooling wave stricken generations,
the midwest slept,

And the calloused shaking cuff linked hands,
the wolves counting cotton rags.
the orange lightning’s sojourn on cracked clay,
the groan of the east caught in the middle,
the nation slept.

And the enlightenment singing over speakers loud,
the sheep unhinging their pens to existent,
the white knuckled youth pounding the pavement,
the beat of the drum collective,
the world awoke.

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