The Starving Grass
I will claw and scratch through limestone
in dry spells and choirs of ill rain. Sigils
large, sigils small will form
in hunger for an unformed letter.
The drill bits, brutal and crooked
will peg out another bit of vowel,
another perch for the owls.
Your name: sandblasted by time,
phonemes gored in eternity’s
elision, syllabics screaming.
John Thomas Allen is a 39 year old poet who tries to be offline more than online.
That sucked the air out of my gutReplyDelete