The fusebox erupted
volcanic red and sparks were buried
in the backyard like empty bottles
light into the wind, hands
sift through ice
fingers move to avoid
static hands that fall apart
when the bottles are buried
snowmelt rises
land drinks the
water and cracks gradually
fade
fade the red boiling
sleep in the sea
Nicely done sir Blakeslee, I personally find this to be one of the best poems youve written. I get the sense that here you are really beginning to feel the words, and not just using them to illustrate a cognitive meaning. I dont fully apprehend the meaning of the poems entirety, but the emotions and images within are great.
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