Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Great Plains

Last year my heart was
plagues locusts
The sky turned black,
atmosphere roaring like it was
raining chainsaws
The ground rustling, bodies
crunching underfoot
But they've since passed
and left nothing but
fields picked clean
miles and miles of desolation.
There may not be any life left here
but there's no noise, either,
no distraction, no distortion
no wind
No boot soles hardening the dirt
No bare feet running from
pounding hooves. 
I lie down in the dust,
feeling the dry stubble tickle the back of my neck,
watching a single heart-shaped cloud
drift across the blue sky,
watching it slowly lose its shape.

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