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Earth

It turns like a martyr,
Facing the sun,
A thick and bloody open eye.
Rudderless continents and
A fistfull of oceans,
Chalkmarks, a cough, a twist.
Considered between a thumb and forefinger
Along the tilted axis
Stuck in Atlas' shoulder blade.
Netherworld.
Etherworld.
Breathe the rockdust
And window shade sediment into your lungs
And blow it all out the hair of your nostrils.


by Scott Burton