Poems by Bob Perkins
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Contrail
by Bob Perkins
From Canary Fall 2015
Bob lives on the California coast in the Santa Monica Watershed.
A jet fuel paper cut
on the sundown sky,
looks clean, shines white,
then bleeds out,
bubbles, scabs,
raises flesh,
and dissipates
leaving its transparent carbon scar,
one of a thousand scars this day
© Bob Perkins