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Des Moines (next in the Cities poems series)


Des Moines


Every hotel room turned over a hand-meant stay

deep in the pocket of what gives to feel tight, small,

singular in the feel of one room zoom without escape.

And the highways are a zipper on the cuff of your jeans

and the stores are giving more promise of dead weight,

find a bar you love and float more often through the afternoon

than a sun or a cloud with a cold grip of certain staying.

Make due in an apartment they let you be like any statue

or tribute to a piece of the landscape that carved you in.

Drive downtown to the sound of your own drum,

and feel the song of life start to chime 29 times for this ship.

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