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Housewife Shifts Her ’64 Ford Galaxie
into Hyperdrive
She blazes home
round the corner of
dawn and darkness, smoking
tires blown to shreds
in shapes of quasars
and super novas.
Moon shells dance
a comet trail on her dash.
She’s got a stash of
seeds in a sack
under the seat.
She doesn’t see
when she is seen, she writes
while driving, her children
in constant dis-
composure. She knows
exposure to gas clouds
and house dust
may spawn planets.
When the moon cracks
she scatters ashes
over the garden
little rings around the Cosmos
a prayer for bright flowers
a shock of stars.
Return to Volume 1.2
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