Suboptics
What does it mean
the night's a dark box
and dogs are barking in it
reading the reports
of a spectacular sunset
looking at Colombian coffee
but the road's invisible
how do you know where you are
why sleep for a thousand years
there must be drums
before the poem is shouted
and spirits roll up to the dance
his big eyes are lifted
to the glorious Andean Condor
fading into tired binoculars
like sleep is to a hangar
like an airplane taking off
airspace turns to outer space
© 2015 Rob Schackne
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