I

(I'm going to start sharing my poetry/creative writing on here because I've finally worked up the courage. I hope you like it. Also, and I cannot stress this enough, please, please, don't copy or plagiarize or anything like that. It's just not cool. Please. All comments and feedback are welcome.)




(Untitled I)

While we were down here

Carving that…clay bank with

Digitized knives

While the piled land stems out

From its own heavenly.

And ubiquitous as small tap stones

In breathing statutory moonlight

I climbed the rope—the unfrayed one

To the top of six

Billowing white sails.

If I rear my mind, will you?

The land doesn’t roll out—

It starts its figuring.

And metallic, it twitches

Hot whips of light, through a barred window

Twenty sleeps and forty lids

Still the wracking morning.