McCannot (prodigalsun) wrote,
McCannot
prodigalsun

i am to sheath as he is to sword.

these soft mountains do not echo
& love to swallow
the oncoming traffic
whining past my head
like bullets
spring blossoming wildly like algae,
gloating,
as green as blood is red.

the highway flickers
between the hills
like a serpentine tongue,
peeling boulders open
like the white wings of a ribcage.

march sighs
as our frantic hands
dredge through cobweb.
the sun stares into us
& goes blind,
dusk rapidly hemmoraging
on the horizon,
fog gathering like milkweed
in the valleys,
pressing its gauzy mouth
over mine.
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 0 comments