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Green Stars on the Rise
The veins have all but dried
But the 49er arrives with the sunrise.
Pick axe in hand Dynomite in the good eye.
He's the only one left of his kind
Even Blackjack broke free of the pain
hoofing it for the last watering hole
It kicks at the cracked earth-
while licking the salt from his reigns.
Deeper and deeper the miner burrows in.
It's all about blind commitment now.
The poison of pride over the succulence of time
Willowy faith over the slag of good reason
The gristle of isolation over the nectar of companionship.
At the very edge of the dying lamp light
the black snake has tapped the vein dry
A dusty angel sips the last of the moonshine.
The 49er rolls two stones over two black holes
that once were green stars on the rise.
Copyright ©
Anthony Biaanco
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