|
piston
by Indigo Tempestanot even thirty degrees. i am flying.
unbloodied above pavement.
skin cakes off; power paid out
what wants.
embodied in paved future
in legs like pistons. not like --
legs are machines
and i have two, those
little stout things
i bring to each engagement.
we fury; we rout.
mechanical mutton; flock's
propulsion; designed to pace
with mad dispatch.
not to wander.
read a book, in this cold, or
something. god, stay indoors:
but stray a bit, outward,
look for ground, something
growing, grown, utterly
different. unlike, anyway. 03/13/2008 Author's Note: oh jeeeeesus christ help me finish. "first sight"
Posted on 03/14/2008
Copyright © 2025 Indigo Tempesta
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jared Fladeland on 03/15/08 at 02:24 PM hmmm. maybe to tie back in all the things about legs, making a connection that only your legs can get you "there", wherever that new thing growing is? |
|
