A clean, empty hole for the lepers to jump in--
even The Basin can get behind that.
Matches and newspapers,
and revisions to the plan,
the lepers' turn in the hole; no top,
just moonlight.
The blossoms sing soda shop on the tree limbs
while our coyote makes a nest of trash.
By dawn the young are born.
Something gives.
I'm a-goin'-ta move the ocean right up next to the fence,
and drop my line
into the Leper Sea.
A joke is only so-so in the heat,
but the marine layer is soft and funny.
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