August Poem 44: Axe Handle Sunrise

I marched acted upon by axe handle

Sunrise. I marched until Arizona’s

Pink highways, and my feet were blistered. And

I marched until conjunction. A Jaguar.

The ash in all the blisters on my feet.

Popped crevices. Driveways. Or even both.

To bleed her pocket. Real. Backwards. I marched

Until too smart. And they came out of the

Washer popped and bleeding into the cracked

Road, the bed, and the blisters on my feet.

I marched until easy understanding

Of the popped blisters on my feet. I knew.

Being able to, I marched. Light puss

Glued my socks to my feet. Wanting. Pillows.

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