the tongue greedy to start
its saying sos, the breath slick,
spit shined bright and pretty
the meaning always ready
to give way. They arrive
hard-eyed and soft hearted,
the cold release of so much sky
in their last gasp descents,
both shot and shell,
show and tell cinematics
while the art drowses,
your artist’s heart
the stones’ own reckoning,
the language washing away
past your battle scars and
animal habits, spoken in
the order of impact.
No comments:
Post a Comment