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"aerially" poems
There were still little words grated in the brush, ourself riding around, a great black horse, the eyeliner, and an iris forest escapes. I am the flowering fire, a sunset westcoast in the twinkling airwaves, or radiowaves, and so we can breathe the literal mass of wind. The green carressed and aerially blessed, deepness and depth; what is truly grey. The powerlines stretch hungrily for days, we see the purple glow and thus it exists-- we graze like ghosts or bugs and try to find the blessed. We wind up and clear the smoke, and blindness is only black until death peers through, and calls the bird call, a shrilling through the spiritual silence. I can see you on maps, you reoccur the same, giant and all. You are the same story and dwell in roles through my brain.
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Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
eric-yellowleaf
newbright
There were still little words grated in the brush, ourself riding around, a great black horse, the eyeliner, and an iris forest escapes. I am the flowering fire, a sunset westcoast in the twinkling airwaves, or radiowaves, and so we can breathe the literal mass of wind. The green carressed and aerially blessed, deepness and depth; what is truly grey. The powerlines stretch hungrily for days, we see the purple glow and thus it exists-- we graze like ghosts or bugs and try to find the blessed. We wind up and clear the smoke, and blindness is only black until death peers through, and calls the bird call, a shrilling through the spiritual silence. I can see you on maps, you reoccur the same, giant and all. You are the same story and dwell in roles through my brain.
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