After Reading the Fathomless Ashbery, I Wrote
Diablo’s hot Studebaker
roared down the road.
Birds rankled in the
Marilyn Monroe flees
the wetness between
Diablo left no tracks
on his way to the stars.
There was no whiskey
left for dreams.
beneath the mailbox.
Flies buzzed around the oak
where Diablo died
in a cloud of smoke.
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