the sunset sepia ghost roads
for hours
counting the telephone poles:
one one hundred two hundred.
infinity.
names and tones thunder leapt from the wires
into her throat.
they cried out conversations
secreted away like lies
years ago.
they marked her like a bruise,
the truths,
the panics and the cries.
she walked that long road
to the sea.
the last pole was just
an indented slice of drift wood
shifting inwardly between the surf
names and tones thunder leapt from the wires
into her throat.
they cried out conversations
secreted away like lies
years ago.
they marked her like a bruise,
the truths,
the panics and the cries.
she walked that long road
to the sea.
the last pole was just
an indented slice of drift wood
shifting inwardly between the surf
and the blinking highway.
the sky stretched
aimlessly, rusted
with cracked mascara and dew.
she turned around before her heels could sink
into the shore.
the sun rose and set
and she walked back.
the historic static heaved
away from her with each step,
each gust.
only a few buzzing fragments stayed, still
piercing her eyes
with barbed wire and muttered
moments.
the sky stretched
aimlessly, rusted
with cracked mascara and dew.
she turned around before her heels could sink
into the shore.
the sun rose and set
and she walked back.
the historic static heaved
away from her with each step,
each gust.
only a few buzzing fragments stayed, still
piercing her eyes
with barbed wire and muttered
moments.
I feel like your poetry is meant to deal more with feeling and emotion rather than specific words you choose. I like that because I can get lost in the poetry without focusing on meter and rhyme, etc. <3 Very nice.
ReplyDeleteHaha, yeah, well you read that sonnet I was forced to write in Shakespeare? There's a reason none of my poems rhyme-- they suckkkkkkk. lol.
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