Friday, July 20, 2012

Saying an awful little.


I kind of like this one, though for no real quality I can fathom.

the wind and me.

Amidst the roars and ice-tipped tendrils of the wind
that coil on my chest and scrape across my face,
that wrap around my neck and tangle with my limbs,
that try to lift me up about my waist,

a point of weakness in the feet's resolve
to hold close correspondence with the ground.
To keep firmament's kiss upon the soles
or nuzzle up and rub the shoe grip down.

The insubstantial bonds that hold me to my shadow
are torn; they flutter, whip irreparably fray.
It gets stretched out, lithe and bent and narrow
And I am altogether whisked away.