libris
kickbox
Tall Grass Prairie
Boiling air rolls and rises,
Distorts the giant grasses
As they retain pockets of heat
And belch hot breath
In putrid waves
When parted.
Burning Claustrophobia
In a tangled labyrinth of
Big bluestem and Indian grass,
Seven feet tall,
With self made paths
And no exit.
Fresh Milk
She noisily sucks
From the designer bottle,
Grimacing at the taste
Of formula while
My breasts weep,
Believing that my baby
Has died.
Cast Iron
Heirloom of mothers,
Though once malleable,
You went cold in the mold.
Heavy and tired
You are fixed as you are.
To weary to care
To tired to change.
Stinging in pops and crackles
All those standing near
As the fat slides in.
Heirloom of mothers
Who’s dark surface mirrors a tired face
And attempts to hide imperfections
With liberal amounts of grease.
Boiling air rolls and rises,
Distorts the giant grasses
As they retain pockets of heat
And belch hot breath
In putrid waves
When parted.
Burning Claustrophobia
In a tangled labyrinth of
Big bluestem and Indian grass,
Seven feet tall,
With self made paths
And no exit.
Fresh Milk
She noisily sucks
From the designer bottle,
Grimacing at the taste
Of formula while
My breasts weep,
Believing that my baby
Has died.
Cast Iron
Heirloom of mothers,
Though once malleable,
You went cold in the mold.
Heavy and tired
You are fixed as you are.
To weary to care
To tired to change.
Stinging in pops and crackles
All those standing near
As the fat slides in.
Heirloom of mothers
Who’s dark surface mirrors a tired face
And attempts to hide imperfections
With liberal amounts of grease.