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And this poem is called RAW SALT
I poured bleach on the bloody moon and turned it scalding white. Then I
wrote my autobiography on it in ash. When the bill came due, I joined the
cowboys who navigate by fear. They locked me in a cabin inhabited by
moles. I escaped through the mirror and landed in a lake. I baked for weeks
in seaweed and lost a lot of flesh. Hittites picked the barnacles off me
and packed me in raw salt. I healed in time to see the airmen welcomed home.
A tall barker was hawking condo lots. It was Gatlinburg in mid July.