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Poetry

(rd king dot net)
poetry and digital art

American Summer

Poems written while traveling.

High Desert Saturday 


I can see the rain falling
but it does not hit the ground:

low clouds, high peaks and a drunk
wind pushing the clouds around—

traveling the great heights
of eastern Nevada and finding

small, desolate towns holding
an allegiance to some barren thing.

Quick acquaintances in gas stations.
Lured by the dazzling hardship:

I could see the rain falling
but it did not hit the ground.




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