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8th & Ingraham

I forget about money watching the clouds over 8th & Ingraham. The clouds a rhubarb-colored

ship in the sky. To my right it all grays out, the bats emerging now from the chimneys. The bats

listening for the cicadas’ echo. Echo is a way to create space, is a metaphor for time. Time for

the cop to move along I think watching the cop watch me from my porch. Fuck 12. The robin on

the wirevine the wireeye competing with the bats for cicadas. The robin competing reds with

the sky. The sky a money for the cicadas: a way to make space, time. The cicadas sounding out

the future through repetition. A friend says to spend nothing is to keep flexibility in your hands,

to keep your youth. Money the sound of decay. Money the repetition of waste.

from InheritanceFind more by Taylor Johnson at the library

Copyright © 2020 Taylor Johnson
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books.

Published in Poems Taylor Johnson

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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