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and to think i saw it on floyd terrace

Tim Martin's Sonnet Project

Monday, November 14, 2005

Texas, Texas Uber Alles

cactus are dangerous decanters
in our own hands
ghosts make lawless vigils
this inhospitable moonscape
grows assasins, fugitives, mailbombs,
if another country settles
under some broad senseless star
and rises up against itself
north and south over again
split shallow, waterless roots
this turning we've waited for
miles under the soil
bled fires of greedy eyes
to watch the sky for intellegent designs

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