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Famous Reporter # 32
 

 

 

 

KEVIN BONNETT

              The Dress

Wind wailing calls her home
only
her dress has gone missing and the road is long and falling
pale flesh
home to be ignored
 
Her dress shredded on the hoarse grasses
between here and the desert,
cloud remnant scraps in sky
long white arms
naked as a continent,
holding her back.
 
With night receding, portents
become future,
the beach, arc of the transposed
wandering girl
along to the kiosk, on a lake of concrete,
 
‘Leave me’
she cries to the blubber,
black vein,
jellyfish, down,
below the wall
in the sand,
waiting

 

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