One Poem by John Thomas Allen

 

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.