From the primate's lousy fur
a cry goes up

to reach for the stars and there acquire
an end to the longing that drives us
forward, the dream too
awakened in us
(held back)
only by boundaries

of reality, our worldly concerns
for one another -- and the plague
we carry.  We carry on.


WC Roberts  WC Roberts's website lives in a mobile home up on Bixby Hill, on land that was once the county dump. The only window looks out on a ragged scarecrow standing in a field of straw and dressed in his own discarded clothes. WC dreams of the desert, of finally getting his first television set, and of ravens. Above all, he writes.

Other works by WC Roberts

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