garbage juice
Jesse Black
seangadoury
norm
Rob Nagy
darren
shitisbadnews
Mathew Reynolds
Tom Nagy
frenchypink
kaleidoscopeflux
Emma Smith
Travis C
From hundreds of miles away, you feel them in your stomach—
Colossal irregularities in the crust of the earth,
Landlocked fleets of celestial shipwrecks,
Conceived long before
The earth had even dreamt you up.
*
They communicate through streams of thought,
Exchanging bodies of water, pools of knowledge,
Making up their mind, then questioning their sanity,
About inch-long migrations
That will take millennia to complete.
*
The majority of them are piling up their efforts,
Wide at the base, building loosely upwards,
Erecting rocky fingers in atmospheric corridors,
Ignorant of their destructive nature,
Hoping to caress the underbelly of a cloud.
*
Now and again you see this happen,
A perfect cloud, disemboweled by obsidian hands
Crafted in an aggressive deep-earth furnace.
Its vaporous insides rush down the mountainside,
A phantasmal army of medieval soldiers in full march.
*
You resist the urge to get lost in the shattered horizon,
Simply observing the subtle mannerisms of these earthen giants.
In time, you learn their language and they become so simple.
And in time, you even find a way to put up with the guilt
Of having gotten used to the beauty of this place.
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