Rock Collection

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I do not sympathize with inanimate life.
But I study the symmetry of polished beach rocks.
This began when I was a little boy in Washington and Eisenhower ran things.
You may have noticed this innocuous delight in some of my latest photographs.
The country is going through its soup of red and blue arguments again.
I feel the need to go searching through my elsewhere places.
How badly we need some unnameable new thing in lieu of what these men do.
The sea bottom has been grossly stirred this winter.
I belong walking on the sand. One way of looking away.
The colors of bright shiny, harmless rock creatures:
more alive than candidates quarreling through the wires.
In the night’s middle they are still at it.
My clock hands wring themselves.
Can sense be made of all the yammering?
My collection has smooth, warm-colored rocks that please me.
I have arrowheads I found on the bank of the Columbia River
when I was still a kid and it was still a river.
We called the natives red men. I don’t recall any blue men.

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