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The broken amphora leaks wine dark as ink~
not for drowning sorrows but for making sigils on stars.
We don’t merely rearrange rubble with our words
we ignite phosphorus in marrow-bones
guiding wanderers through sulfurous nights.
When the world grinds its sermons into dust,
we distill comet-trails from the grime.
Those soaring meditations? They become
bridges where ghosts cross with new alphabets,
each footfall cracking the ground into stars.
E-gads! I wanted to enter
this contest...now, not an adjective left --
Any attempt to describe would be theft!
Nothing related to do, but visit my mountain kin,
Jethro and Sue -- having finished my last jug of
moonshine gin, back I go to family distillers – enjoy
your crisp leaves and darling speckled colors, ‘tis also
the season
for clear Applejack lovers!
I never saw him but he said he could …
dive sixty feet
into three feet of drink ... i
saw him drown drafts
and distillers from glasses that clink …
I never saw him but he said he could …
ride bikes backwards
on bars with his butt … i
saw him
abuse and call her a **** …
I never saw him but he said he could …
whip any ten men
only for fun … i
saw him whip loved ones
and brag he had won …
I never saw him but he said he could …
ascend, sail in air ships … i
saw him soar
from s t a g g e r i n g summits
to heaps on the floor …
he never said he could but i saw him …
InciteinvisibleInvaders
CURSEshadow’sSilence
BR EAK bones
HURT hearts
TURN holidays toHELLDAYS
PUSH peaceTo Pandemonium
I SAW HIM!
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