Cameron Morse 

The Vision

In the vision of myself as electricity
encased in a black rubber
sheath, there are wires in the walls
of my body. Lightning bolts
drop from my fingertips
and the jerky squirrels
in my yard are seized by lightning,
the epileptic squirrels.
How this energy is in hell is this
fireball harnessed how it
could be held if needed.
Power lines lasso my horizon.
Transformers on the march across Kansas
drag their heavy lines and for once
I am lacey light. My lines are sails that lift
in the tender morning air.
My webs invisible in this light.

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