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Marquis Hardy Oct 2015
You could hear it-

The ground rumbling, the writhing branches trying to hold on to their scurrying leaves.

You could see it-

The yellows and oranges relenting to the indigo and gray, the birds retreating to their comfort.

You could feel it-

the rumbling of the Earth, the wind entering through the cracked window from the runaway branch.

The Blackwind began spinning through the sky- twisting and turning, emulating a vacuum cleaner.
Night lived within the revolving snare leaving a void in its wake.
Washed brand new like an open canvas the once inhabitable surroundings relied on time to create it  anew once more.
B Wasserman Jun 2016
I come
and the wind
burns in knots
with rank perfumes
sand, dirt
I cant see the sky
the clouds sleep low
windmill shuffles
hands like rusty
iron spiders

How did we arrive here?
memory bears no
my recollect pours
on empty
I run over my last thought
with my last thought
with my last thought
driving on and
burying with
endless wheels
delivering black weight
and flowers for prayers
learning my last thought
died with first thought

— The End —