by Steve Arntson
copyright 2008
See it there!
A sunset just a darkening
A black-and-white affair
more suitable for Bad Guys and lonesome times
It is said the rocks were blasted once
At the entrance dynamite you didn't stick around!
the stock market crashed
It's 1933
And the sun has simply turned to stone with the times
An amorphous gray
It's still a market
Still a sunset
And what we're hearing like banshee landlords
the cries of the avifauna
their absolute agenda
The Bay is like a sudden crater
where the truth about money is a costly surprise
the color of steel
The new color of the sinking star
New gray
As if gray were Noel and anomaly
what painters' eyes have never seen
and therefore attempted
with their pallet's bright ouija
Designation: poverty
The ranger pronounces government green
that seems another version of "All is lost!"
Chances are you own a uniform yourself
And keep it tailored to a vanishing life-form
"Money market" is alliteration only
A tease in the mind
A cork afloat in the cranial sea
where no horizon's ever discerned
dimeless
Something unthought-of before
Upwind or down
We're just about turned into animals again
No one's to blame how does it feel?
Half-light and half-dark
It's a sunset devoured by a battleship's paint job
A gray that's waiting
on the sirens of Roman numeral wars
I II and counting impatiently
Let the ranger speak!
Can purple be a color? and red? out there?
right now?
Blown apart!
westmost smithereens
an underwater temple deconstructed
What sealife does and all the time
The ranger's talking science to no one in particular
Talking to retire she incubates a bias towards the west
The last lines of sight beginning to curve
and be a reservoir of sable shallow numerology
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