The Nation Is Dead by Robin Wyatt Dunn

the nation is dead
we’re singing it
into the water

my mother is a mountain
I’m moving north

under the sun I can feel the voices speaking to me
ten thousand years

who is it made the world
and what is my place in it

and where does the gravity go,
when it has left my body?

California recedes under the dust
and my boots

and the drumbeats of home

Robin Wyatt Dunn lives in Los Angeles. In this picture he is holding his tiny chapbook MARY, from Rinky Dink Press.