Ticket to Write – 13

‘Weathering’ 2

I don’t particularly like this pair, but they’re in anyway for the sake of completeness.

weathering-2_double

And the sun pours molten gold
from the bluehot crucible
of the sky
And the cicadas roar outrage
from treehusks dried for weeks
& the leaves rattle autumnally
(so hot so hot)
& the asphalt bubbles up
like ectoplasm
from the chipsealed road
& stick-stick-stick like gum
on my feet with each step
& the land & sky & town all tremble
under the sun
& there is a long way to go.
My arms – neck – face – head all
prickle, damp but not cooled
fresh sweat, dry salt, sunburn
& then there is a bridge.
Shade underneath, & the cool breeze
rising from the river.
A moment to rest, & on I go.
The heat is still searing, but one
important thing
is different.

 

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About coruscantbookshelf

"A writer is an introvert: someone who wants to tell you a story but doesn't want to have to make eye contact while doing it." - Adapted from John Green
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