So, what is the truth of this? Well this sky, for one.
On this day the Vegas sky will strike Avedis Zildjian.
Listen as the sky is dust’d with pastel baby powders.
“Happy Father’s Day,” on a jar of sand, a children’s
Jar, with a cotton top, to a child without a father.

In this softness through the dusk there stands
The vampish mountains. Past a while are silver
Grounds that sing cold and distant vespers.
How strange a thought for this small town, to
Hear the evening prayer. But then you’ll see,
That mercury, and know to not go there.

And there! A bright and terrifying factory in night!
Naught’ visible but gold and windows. Steam and
Smoke and yellow light. What are they making
There I wonder? Is it filled with time machines?
Are they making all these nighttime wonders
Keeping me from dreams?

You’d fall a hundred years across, into the desert
Caverns. You’d fly past waves of sand and rock
Until you find the water. What is the water? Hidden.
Dark. A city with no people. A hollow world without
A trace of earthly light or present.

Here I sit, in hubris and glow of light pollution,
The powdered sky’s been blown off course,
Perhaps to north, perhaps to south, the dervishes
Of earth take hold in trance towards earth & heaven.

Another kind of smoke will now curl across this land.
For now it tastes of time and salt, tomorrow tastes of
heaven. But what can we convey in words, that does
That feeling justice, of sitting on a mountainside
The desert rise’ above us?

These children should go home now, wherever that
May be. Someday and sleep through burning light
Until the brass, and sneaking out, once sky is filled
with powder. And quiet wait, until the ghosts go on
To find another.


2 thoughts on “Powder.”

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