Sea Ghost
it is a coarse sound digging through layers of ash to piece together things from before once fire, the earth took it utterly
By Timothy James Lane3 years ago in Poets
it isn't too far up the beaches, fins thrashing layers of the water fore-bearers in the weathered rocks no account to the nature of moving air
brave one I can't tell you how it happens for I see you're still wild with words to stoke lung-fire and I can see your dreams, discipline, and how
A mask-less mask To hide how you conquer women It's as though you're covetous of your dead father's skull sunkeneyed and long lost to pasture
water slides down wires still passing through the heart no accounting for what each dead planet with its cargo spinning fast in slung-back blackness
we had taken the road inundated by vines to he abandoned hospital on the hill there, we found a wrecked city a church poured of perfect stone
it had stopped raining only briefly the day we folded your husk into black sand your paper atoms now sway under a sky that is almost hesitant to shudder
two days of wind breaking from the west along wings of warmer places as winter precipitates watercolor into a day-lit memory of sandstone roses
graves move past stormy windows, past tired eyes each life once a pasture, a stolen harvest the inner flame absconds skyward
as this end of the valley recovers from winter rain washes dead wood into the slopes over the murmur of insects
as far as our feelings how much has been lost the earth now changes too fast and are we waiting expecting the announcement
what are we writing for a question or a fear a thousand words and have I said nothing shuddering skews of obtuse verbosity