This is the time of the trumpet. Trumpet
of heavy loads, trumpet of back seat
tension trash and crummies. Trumpet
of gold. Trumpet of glory, beyond
dust, coal dust on the winter’s dash
board and off into thousands
of false warm-jellied tail lights.
Trumpet of early mornings long past
honky tonks and cocaine-years-ago.
Trumpet of agony, of fire, of million
devils in the sun, fat snake-man through
the eye of a needle.
- - - - - - - - - -
(December, 2013)
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