Josue Moreno

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Josue Moreno

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  • Poetry

Wrong Saint

07/2019


Bluffs all the way,

how Mississippian.

Hurts to see them

cascade like so. 


They say these lands are empty,

but I’ve seen hidden maps.

They cannot hear the winds,

All through Osage steppes.


Mounds once conveyed

Empire. 

Now they’re under grass,

under dusty epochs.


Bluffs all the way,

how Mississippian.

Hurts to see them

cascade like so.