ONE
A dense forest, from some
skulking angle, is a vista—
Even this wildly colonnaded temple
has its nave—
If only in dry times
with shrunken leaves
A distant sun, the closest star
or hot words of light surge
As living blood through the
harmless hole in your heart
TWO
As leaves with tapering green fingers
scratch their sisters' backs
Or hard breath rustles them
through a tattered woodwind
Not only friction slides between
these skins — immutable green
Phrases indeed pass: howled
notes of irritated flesh
Or the tissues through which
some sick blood red beats blow
Feb 26, 2014
Feb 26, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
ONE
A dense forest, from some
skulking angle, is a vista—
Even this wildly colonnaded temple
has its nave—
If only in dry times
with shrunken leaves
A distant sun, the closest star
or hot words of light surge
As living blood through the
harmless hole in your heart
TWO
As leaves with tapering green fingers
scratch their sisters' backs
Or hard breath rustles them
through a tattered woodwind
Not only friction slides between
these skins — immutable green
Phrases indeed pass: howled
notes of irritated flesh
Or the tissues through which
some sick blood red beats blow
