we noticed perfection

i was in wet grass midwest samadi
counting stars
lying next to you
on god’s lawn

we noticed perfection
how it has endless miles to travel
before it reaches our skin
and so many stories to tell
once it has arrived

but before it reaches the end
it is gone again
dawn hides the writing
that the moon let us read

there maybe only one life
but there are so many bodies
in and out of the ground
we grow
like weeds
we take shape
from the seeds that are planted
by the hands that we hide

death will be a room
where we change
into the skin that surrounds us
and the skin that we surround
huddled in boxes
diving into the sunset
i wear you when i want to feel
like i have nothing on

edward ruscha, western, 1991

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