The oar reflects and
Casts a shadow on the thick red
Swelling lake,
Thick with time gone and
Nights past.
Thick with my hands
Loose and deft; stained now
With a momentary solution
To a mountain of problems.
Mountains are formed when
Two great stones collide
And push in against each other
Reaching up and up and
Up until the clouds are daggered
And snow falls asleep towards the peak.
My hand makes waves and
In it’s rippling wake
I feel myself die
I feel myself wince
I feel my bed beneath my feet
Rich with sulfur and stone
Straightening out my back
It’s good for my back because
I’m always aching from the weight
Of two stones slowly colliding
In my thick stupid skull
Always full of rippling red lakes.
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
The oar reflects and
Casts a shadow on the thick red
Swelling lake,
Thick with time gone and
Nights past.
Thick with my hands
Loose and deft; stained now
With a momentary solution
To a mountain of problems.
Mountains are formed when
Two great stones collide
And push in against each other
Reaching up and up and
Up until the clouds are daggered
And snow falls asleep towards the peak.
My hand makes waves and
In it’s rippling wake
I feel myself die
I feel myself wince
I feel my bed beneath my feet
Rich with sulfur and stone
Straightening out my back
It’s good for my back because
I’m always aching from the weight
Of two stones slowly colliding
In my thick stupid skull
Always full of rippling red lakes.
