poems

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the humming iron core of our bodies, weaves her gentle threads through our molten soft innards

and we lie in the strangled roadside bramble, hemmed with asphalt, alongside the spindly trunks and tangled chainlink

the early spring wood, desperate and sharp, roots leafless in the banks of our ferrous creeks, where mycelium gathers along our margins

the howling sun watches from his perch, as we breathe his heat into scuffed concrete and rusted beams, patiently eroding into the rising sea

culture tumbles through our tongues, eutrophic and stagnant, we watch it trickle over the budding grasses, anoxia seeping into hard packed dirt

and when we wake to the moon lapping up the furious longing in our blood, we allow her to take everything we can give, and nearly feel content