Tuesday, January 14, 2014


The black gold floating in the green heart and great scarring
views of the ruins by kite to locate a meal in the mud under the mouth

abyss--vast plains interrupted only a few men in bathyscaphs
this tiny nucleus of artisans began to appear on land

to gain the heights in solitude and
freedom of the flesh, of the womb, of the grave

1 comment:

raw poetry by donna snyder said...

just gorgeous, Luke