If I am brother to the night call her sister to the rain:
blood beats staccato drops upon my heartstrings;
blasts neo-tribal rhythms through frozen aqueducts;
A piece of peace on the precipice of higher learning,
bestow nirvana, future fantastic.
She rolls like thunder.
And I hear her cry
breaking deafening silence through gritted teeth and shadows borne.
Her words are mountains,
her scars like the grooves of her favorite 45 -
mellow, melodic pulsing funk beneath broken skin
salted with teary-eyed wonder.
I see the jungles in her eyes.
2 comments:
Your writing is so inspiring. . .
Kyle! I haven't heard anything about you in years! We should get on messenger and talk one day.
Teri
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