Gabriel Muoio


some flowers sense the edge of summer,
bless this, the tumbling lyrics of
some great and perilous news—
yet I am a voice that strips love’s virtue
& I am alone at last
    & I
    [smoke & sawdust
     deep brine and gall]—
am in the gulley of our twin mountain’s deep heaving,
lusting, wanting, wincing,
     whose hidden gale
makes seem present things as
sunburst, willy-willy,
a brief and flashlike greeting of the rain

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