Leveler Poetry Journal
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Mount Rushmore

 

will lose a nose.

In the South Dakota night

 

a thunder, birds arisen and banking

like they did for Roger Thornhill.

 

O airplane dive

for my coiffed one, O field

 

of corn,  O climb on me, climb

the broad ridge of me.

 

Fund your face with my super pac,

my super self, cape willowing in the ward.

 

I call to you from cancer or amnesia

or Micronesia or July or narrowly.

 

Your hair never moves, ear never pierces,

and the far far ground waits for its photograph,

 

you, always soon to crumble.

You at the ballot, and I always vote,

 

if I vote, for Teddy.




Autumn McClintock