The stream
twists, slithers, binds
two banks to each other,
slinking ‘cross the dry gaunt gulley,
unpaired.
Under
the faded trees’
blinds, I sit on stone from
where riparian-paradise
explodes;
California’s stolen soil, air,
are logorrhea in
the toilets of
my ears.
I sit
stream-like, apart, meditative –
echoes of Kumeyaay
swirl inside
my head.
Jul 4, 2012
Jul 4, 2012 at 7:56 AM UTC
The stream
twists, slithers, binds
two banks to each other,
slinking ‘cross the dry gaunt gulley,
unpaired.
Under
the faded trees’
blinds, I sit on stone from
where riparian-paradise
explodes;
California’s stolen soil, air,
are logorrhea in
the toilets of
my ears.
I sit
stream-like, apart, meditative –
echoes of Kumeyaay
swirl inside
my head.
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