Outside the City (work in progress)

I've seen enough of the beautiful city.
Symmetrical and cheap. I search for country,
a bruised wilderness, a tower of sky.
A house to visit the lonely. Windows
with room to see the night. A moon
whose bones, exposed-

seep light

into the thirsting mouth
of meadows.

Outside the city, they say
ideas are trees. That wind
is never captured or trapped
or diminished by wrath. Stars
so unashamed, they tremble.
Then burn out.

A circle outside a circle
whose rim existed before the core
of concrete. The dead heart.
Abandoned hive. An ill-attempt
to mimic life.

Come lie next to me
now. Be still.

Outside the city.

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