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Smell the Dusk

by: Jonas Specktor

ask the porous, perforated skin
of a fig tree:
what dance?
we swim in contested waters
a musky border lake
where the eggs we carry
crack open
spill golden blood on the
lolling water’s tongue
whale watchers sing
“our inheritance is dead and dry!”
a closed harbor
man-made, holding hands
at the backroom deal
beware of the lurking Mafia,
heartbreak and oil-slick
these toxic messengers
broadcast over the white-noise highways
that stretch out
cover more of the air with their
tyrant groaning
like Sun Ra, I long for quiet space
other worlds with different frequencies
my friends make war drums from
fallen oak trees and deer hide
I tinker with the radio
try to turn it into a spaceship