The Wind
we are battery powered
need propelled
corresponding switches
turn me on- turn me off
lick away the metal
surface
acidic saliva fizzing
the bad- all gone;
touch is the weapon
that conquers-
stop, time, climb up&down
the spine,
tie the veins in knots
& dance thru the
tangled mess;
the sun & moon share
a caress
reaching around the
earth- we are
clouds of smoke
blown together by
the wind.
Copyright © Rachel Hart | Year Posted 2008
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