Aug 23
Smell the forest’s breath
Sweet pinesap, hot brush, decay
The mountain’s flesh bleeds
sharp, fine dust; rocks clot the roads
Selfish love wounds its lover
Sweet pinesap, hot brush, decay
The mountain’s flesh bleeds
sharp, fine dust; rocks clot the roads
Selfish love wounds its lover
I grew up in the mountains of northern California, playing in the recovering clearcuts.
