marshall
trail
without
speaking
the woods say
it all
there's a tree
laboring along the hillside
a steel lash
close behind
a maple
perfecting
the
rope-a-dope
the twist &
shout
the rattle of
a streetcar rail
empty for
decades
like the car
barn scrapped
in piece rate
coughing up
another deficit
void of
imagination
the judges
from judges row
have fled to
the suburbs
their terraces
abandoned
secretly
bleeding toward the avenue
when the air
is heavy enough
the asphalt
sweats
escape and
follow the old trail
of the
ancients
every tree
contributing its own weight
rooted by
common soil
of the living
--- e b bortz
No comments:
Post a Comment