Will Shootman

Riding to Breckenridge

And when I woke

Touched onto the asphalt and shuttled from

Port through snow-dusted mountain pass

And the bold light of day was being encased in the satin of night

I caught a sunspot through glass and saw clouds dancing in meandering pathways-

Strange gaseous dunes of crystalline perfection sketching

A great silica sea twisting above my head

Warm and orange contrasted against the light low blue atop the horizon

And, yes, it-

-Danced or sifted or twisted or just moved magically

Vaulting far over me


All of these markings of metal and mosaic: railways and highways and cell towers

They were of a mirror made in vain for permanence against the very changing glory that moves its opposite

So far and unreachable to taunt our feeble attempts

And as the illusion ran me through I felt a spinning vertigo

For I could’ve sworn I was a diver hurtling head-up to those rolling dunes

Toward their mutable truth and away from this concrete falseness

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