Atomic Number 13

Afterthoughts dance a revel before
me in their borrowed tunics
and repurposed top
hats. I would like to see 

that cellar retrofitted
beneath the surface
that cannot be defined. I
imagine how it would be 

to submerge an old Airstream—
my silver bullet travels
just under the earth’s skin. I cringe
but then applaud 

the rising courage that gets
partially skimmed off.

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