Sunday, August 30, 2009

Crisp Around the Edges

Crisp around the edges
almost beautiful
like fried eggs in bacon grease
poached sea turtles and winter grass

Strangled by the current's ember
the hose leans into the brittle claim of leaves
blown about in air of nip-tuck
cameras shutter as they flutter

Fire eats the forest ants
and snaps the smallest thing alive
'til trees are bones and sky is smoke
as branches put on flaming coats

Hold still
the sky has come unglued
the wind is in me not just the air
when my hair falls in curtains
across the aching and I turn away
just not today

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