Litkicks Message Board Archive

wandering

Posted to Action Poetry





each trance
pales in the sky
each wind
mends the lull

breath, underground
through winter: the coma
of dream
scratched in loam
and in rock

dawn
it's the dawn
in your step
and the
ashes
in the cracks
of cries:

white faces
hanging on the
line. the weeds
crushed in the field

i pass

into the first
nomad hour
into the last
sleeping seed

i listen
break the bread

i am air's
only
stammered
relic