#89

July 22, 2011 § Leave a comment

“Lightning doesn’t tickle”
She whispers
Into gossiping winds
Words swept up in hot air
While she watches rivers dry

In reflection of water beneath,
Skin ripples in the chill
Of concrete beneath bare legs
While her throat is warmed
By sweaty winds

She remembers how loyal these gray skies are
How they seem to respond
At her beck and call
She can reel them in with the gravity
Of her grief

Electric oxygen is floating
Over river martinis stirred
Not shaken
And the shoreline simmers silently
Like she’s the only one awake

A plank above the ocean –
Her concrete perch is reaching
Precariously over tumult
Silenced by the rimy peace –
A barrage spread with river sleeves

It’s here she knows
That light will dance –
Static through her chest
Uncrosses legs tucked safely
And drops her feet at last

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You are currently reading #89 at Authored Angioplasty.

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