In Dallas we had a boomerang
that we flew despite everything,
despite the city’s insistently armored metal songs
in a true-dream that was Judy’s and mine
as long as the sacred instrument returned
to us in the sky,
and it was the human autumn of 1978,
and we lived, in a manner of speaking

In Dallas we had a boomerang
that we flew
on a wild-grass-grown zero-area
between the Skillman
and Northwest Highway motorways,
in the shadow of science-fiction-curved hulls of bridges
up above,
constantly singing their tire-bass drones;
motet-like, liturgical, apocalyptic,
as we lived, in a manner of speaking, Judy & I,
as long as the sacred instrument returned
in the sky