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Shannon Tharp – Nebraska

Shannon Tharp
Nebraska

A caravan’s mapless
dirge sulks into windmills’
listless spinning to a terror
of trees.

*

I’ll turn the key, quarry
my worry to sleep under intricate
bridges.  All it takes is you
taking my hand.

*

The horizon’s plum bloomed
a colored dozen of the same kind and I
can’t stop thinking my sight: if it were
a city, I’d punch its lights out.

*

Sad monuments, these reminders—
guns, paper, and tires—
are what you are.  The string
I never tied around my finger.

*

Few places are beautiful
in the dark, and you’re the first
I’ve seen.  I don’t need light
to learn why.

*

My heart in a hazard
of cars moves closer to
knowing you’re nothing
I can cry for, to.

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