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RICHARD WILSON MOSS

SONGSOPTOK THE WRITERS BLOG | 5/15/2015 |




The Gas Station Man

Undone, the handle put back in place
Fails to work anymore
The service is called once again
Pigeons perching upon the awning
Glare at the attendant on a cell phone.
Awarded the sun
The morning celebrates more than it can
The same riot year after year
Customers throwing the ends of bread
To sudden fierce birds fighting over their prize
One mortally wounded always leaves and hides
Like the gas station man divinity affords
Lives different years and dies.


Sun Of Night

How is it that this is made
To diminish shadow with its shade
This constant, inconstant sun of night
Destroyer of our stars
Raging delinquent moon,
Dark and beaten rock of borrowed light
Dead cosmic heart forever falling around ours.


OLD MEN CAMPING

Above us
Showers scatter the wrens
The poles of the tents sweat
Having already sunk
Into disagreeable ground
Inside the paper cups are wet
So wine is quietly swigged
Above us
The sun will set
Without a sound.

[RICHARD WILSON MOSS]


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