Sky Hooks Hang Themselves
Will the sky topple inward
or the hills heap upwards
it I do not make these symbols
upon a snow-white field?
Will a poet turn to stone
before my eyes
or will a jackdaw caw
pointlessly into a gale?
And now the thin thread
thickens
becomes a full gutted snake
laying across a dusty road
or is it a rope
knotted and curling
as obtuse as any
imponderable script?
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
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