The road, a rock and a rose
Leaves, wrapped in blankets.
The boy whispered. “Just a little ways” he said
I’ll hear you
Looked into Nothing when he walked out.
The country lying. The visible shape, the moon caustic light
The murk, a river, the blackened quadrants, burned city, the morning
At the edge of winter, they opened up the hillside
With pick and mattock, serpents collected, a common warmth
The dull beginning sluggishly,
The bowels of some great beast
The gasoline burned
No remedy for evil
The image of it
exercise from http://www.rachelmckibbens.blogspot.com/
No comments:
Post a Comment