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Hoppin'

July 2012

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Hoppin'

Blood spilled upon the ground, and where it fell the earth grew, each drop into a hill, every splash a dark-soiled, fertile peak.

Breath sighed into the air, and where it blew great clouds formed, blue-white monoliths floating among thin gray traces.

And the body, the vessel, became the sea as it fell, containing in itself sacred impurities and dark secrets, full of life, and of death.


Lightning falls crookedly from the bright gray disc of its own impression upon the clouds; one, two, three times touching on the horizon. It's too far to hear but there is thunder in my head. Storm clouds ring the sky in three directions while the moon peers yellow and pregnant through the power lines.
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Comments

I still adore the way you write.
Ditto.