Pin It

concerning the rights of mother earth 

it's not the comforting heat
of the hot sheet metal
of the car door
under an arm propped
out the open window —
the panamints on the right —
speeding toward
stovepipe wells.

— a self-shattering dream. you
know what i mean.

the unease is palpable in the
weight we all carry.

our collective breath: where does it lead?

yellow eyes —
tongue lolling,
as they say —

a fish in the sea
pursued for his life
by a bird who will
fly beneath waves.

these naked clouds that cover the
trees.

now is a good time to love
bare rock — the skeleton.

the feather pressed in amber
confirms
we are real.

  • Pin It

Comments

Subscribe to this thread:

Add a comment

About The Author

Monte Merrick

more from the author

Latest in Poetry

© 2015 The North Coast Journal Weekly

Website powered by Foundation

humboldt