When the push becomes greater than the effort itself

Chest heaving as the rib nags on with its insipid pain

The smell of iron in the sinuses

The crest of the hill is finally met

A twisted birch rots below the evergreens

And above the canopy of needles and twigs

A crow proclaims his story to the wind

It is here that the blood pumps to the eyes,

Creating a pulsating vision

Lulling the tingly skin to a floataway dance

As the heart begins to rest


One thought on “12-29

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s