An arch carries the name among the streets
Where mountains stand colossal
In maternal protection
An M looms overhead
Drawing outsiders like moths
Milkweed carries on the air
Like your neighbor’s voice
And faint lightning falls
In crooked streaks behind hills
Cast into Colorado and lost
Here where children lap at the shore of a creek
Like nameless urchins
Pigeons display on a bridge in gargoyle respect
A line of musicians perform forever as
Bronzed erections holding steadfast
Their instruments in noon shadow
Inside the people brew for commerce
Outside they brew as foregone mountaineers
Watching life ferment these Golden years
Carrying such ways inside them
About the Creator
Kincaid Jenkins
Author of "Drinking With Others: Poetry by the Pint" available at https://redhawkpublications.company.site/Drinking-With-Others-Poetry-by-the-Pint-p470423761 and for purchase on Amazon.
Instagram: kincaidjenkins103
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Disarmament
They say there's no atheism in the foxhole. While I wasn't currently neck-deep in a river of soft sediment, I was still praying to whoever would listen. Why am I doing this again? I would ponder while staring at the device that in no less than a minute could be my undoing. I scanned each and every variable panel and commonplace button as I watched the bright red L.E.D ticker countdown. No wires to cut, no code to put in, there was only one way to stop this infernal machine, and that incurred perfect timing.
By James U. Rizzi3 days ago in Fiction
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