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Comments about R.K. Leantis
Bird On A Wire
tired and ready for sleep.
The road is flat
with fast moving,
staggered lines at the bottom of my door.
They grow longer,
blurring into one rail of white.
edge the road.
withered pieces of wood standing
like crosses for the dead.
Crooked and leaning opposite of each other,
they are a hitchcockian nightmare.
The wires are
pulled tight between them.
A squirrels' tightwire,
holding up the endless Atlas
to a not-so-modern form of communication.
I move by them,