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The Lunar Still
The lunar still
is a poet’s first lay
(in eggs, not girls
in hearts, not legs).
Oasis absent
but for thought.
A tomahawk
of stars and stripes
without cold piss
of nations owning
anything.
It listens as it
brushes teeth
for hygiene sense
and bones to pick.
Artesian springs
acquire wrinkled
aqua-ducts.
Soft felt look
of immutable facts.
One candle in
a motorcade.
One camera
falling off a boat.
Respecting seas
that rocked it there.
~Janet I. Buck
Janet teaches writing and literature at the college level. Her poetry appears in hundreds of publications on-line and in print. Her two newest books are now available from Newton's Baby and Word Wrangler. Email.
© 1999 by Janet I. Buck. All Rights Reserved.
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© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated April 23, 2002.
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