The Desert Reclaims Its Silver


Weeds grow into trees

and words fail them

clouds darken and fill


the plastic swimming pools of their children

children of weeds

kids of the great horned casino in

Winnemucca


one time back in the 80s my dad

walked up to a house here

put a finger in a missing patch

of stucco and peeled off more

as proof of our unforgivable luxury


next morning I took

two quarters from the metal tray

of a slot machine

and the security guard took them

back




Where There Is No Grass


there is no blade


of grass

of steel


of dandelions and blood

where there is


here is

plus one letter


and here there is

no grass


asphalt to every edge

shards


from thrown-down bottles

catch the sun




Night On Earth


I chose a different road

for your last one


not the one through the 

neighborhood


placid as you're not

but the one that runs


the dying golf course

and winds back home through glass


I fear my life without these shards

that I'll forget your bite


I fear my life without a dying dog

that I'll be less alive


the lawns are turning placid and 

the cars are slowing down


who's going to keep that fucking

squirrel in his place


for all the money I'll save on dog

food, Miles


the nights will not

come cheap




Neighbors


The arbor is on slow collapse

the world is on its ass

and the sky is a cloudy sea

they got married under


walked past it with the dogs

the flaking paint and yelling

the flat tire begging to be new

the world is on its ass


the drip

the flood

the under

thunder


tarps stretched over the roof

in drought

catch the first drops

run with dust

© Ira Joel Haber
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Andrew Baron is more or less the same collection of cells he was the last time his work appeared in Otis Nebula. He is grateful for this.

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