mantle dugout

Power through time again
and the dying of leaves
switch-hitting at the answers
of dust-mite thoughts
roughly the size and shape
of Texas.

Filling voids long gone
with women’s hopes
and rocket pride.

The act of labor
with ships at sea
fucking head-long
into whitewalls
and the tick grasps
gapingly at the point.

I am away and failing at it. Need more away.

This entry was posted on Thursday, September 10th, 2009 at 8:12 pm and is filed under Writing. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.

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