Wasilla Poem by Alan Buckholtz

Wasilla



WASILLA

I feel a silent turbulence
in a troubled head
of misting memories
shedding darker mornings

Drenched in a desert of
parched aloneness
partaking of the bitter taste
of political theater

Eager for flowers and music
my mind flees to Alaska, to Wasilla
to find just one kind, echoing voice
commanding human significance

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Alan Buckholtz

Alan Buckholtz

Los Angeles, CA
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