Finite terms fail to discourage insane stunts
that often lead to the most beautiful, yet severe fronts.
You find yourself stumbling upon your tidy package of disaster,
Savagely impatient, trying to move faster.
But you can’t rush what has been succinctly outlined for you.
You must wait for the sleeping of the fume,
the dust must settle beneath God’s brassy, incandescent sky
before in the breathless monotony you may lie.
And as the mortal chill begins to fade
you look to what could have been a spongy blood soaked blade,
turn to the sky, clucking and muttering,
thanking God that your death was not ended by your rushing.
1 comment:
great job with pacing and imagery. I like it. I hear a new voice here from you. one i have not heard before. it is reflective and i like the images you borrowed from willie and jack to make your point. nice work staci. - elmeer
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