Saturday, April 2, 2011

Blood Rust

Black bones and blood,
the creaking dinosaurs bobbing their triangular heads
pulling, sucking, with terrible purpose
their own essence from the earth.

Herds of them for miles and miles
stretching to the skyline, a desert necropolis,
mired in place in a graveyard of dust, the killing
rust stopping joints, grinding until
there is nothing left.

Today you bought the blood, I did too.
It runs through our asphalt veins and arteries,
fueling our vampire soul, if only we could be weaned.

The poetry I write is influenced heavily by the music I am listening to at the time. Which is why I often post what I have been listening to. Here it is

No comments:

Post a Comment