DeForrest A. Penley

(Los Angeles, California)


The tall striped man-pole, with long wooden fingers,
Played no music sweet on a keyboard of air,
And the distant gray clouds slowly drifted right through him,
Going southwestward across the red sun,

The green and blue of the transparent ocean,
Rose swiftly to fuse with the imperfect sky,
And the red, and the gold, and the purple-skinned fishes,
Ignored us completely, and slipped right on by.

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