Alan Catlin

Prairie Fires

She looked as
if she’d spent
her formative
years as a bare
backed rider
of pale horses
whipped to
a lathering
frenzy those
full moon
nights of demon
lovers, banshee
wails & ghost
coyote songs,
tone poems for
a restive soul 
in perpetual wet
heat, summer
storms never
far from her
gloss tainted
lips, blue
shaded eyes,
hooded, barely
contained pale
tints of prairie
fires

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