November 26, 2007

Another Poem

POSTBRIDGE 

We canter up their scree slopes

with our backs to the wind.

Here is fierce, bold, a

woken snake sliding out over a man’s bare thigh.

Cold air ready to bite us off of the stoneway.

To strike.

And the gorse breathes,

rising out over and under the hands.

The day printing us into the underbelly.

Crisping, here comes the night.

To the west it can be seen, slow,

closing the heads of the valleys

and the faces of the flowers.

Burn-cloud tatters of the awe setting, the orb death:

The sun sets

and over the moor we

are not watching

for a pebble that clicks.

Beast shift.

Squeezed out

from spoor treads

into the sharp stream

from air.


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  • Charlie! you filthy filthy girl! Still, all this is very amazing. well done :) didn't see you over e… by Adam on this entry
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  • Devon, and theres nothing out there but a hurricane….I agree that the last line does 'let go' and … by charlie jones on this entry
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