neon moon

“hey there desperado, let’s dance”

a narcissus kissed neon moon

over a melancholy mohave

reveals a lawless lass in a turquoise lavaliere

drunk on the delirious reverb of a slide guitar

she’s the kind whose kisses break capillaries

a whiskey apparition of a woman

painted lips like sunset dunes

legs like meandering trail rides

a pearl handled kind of rapture

as wild battalions of constellations fall

to a scorched earth

horizon’s resembling vintage postcards

speckled with vultures

two desert sparrows descend

to sway like agave spines

amidst arid gusts of gun smoke

just for the hell of it

“you think I’m kidding, billy?

just runaway with me

I can ride bare back

and you, well –

you’re the kind of trouble

a girl’s been looking for”

a. duncan, 2018

 

 

 

 

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"She would fill endless notebooks with stories about the characters in her life, their impressions, words, friends, lovers, inspirations, fantasies. She spent her days dreaming up worlds where they fit together in visions; the if only, the never again, the someday. Those who knew her best would describe her as a creature with a clear and sometimes painful sense of herself; furious with ideas and convictions, to a point that she frightened love away with discernment and a relentless strength of character."

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