Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

is eternal
comforting in thin places
snagged on the sagebrush
of our motions

we sing ourselves
in the procession
fly on wings
of salvation
give our hearts
to selfish bellies
empty too long.

And I greet you
with a face
you turn away from,
and dreams
you left behind,
on the rocks
but still breathing......

perspectives perspectives perspectives.....