May 29, 2019
It's waiting to speak. This peaceful violence. Sitting in your head. The hungry sky looks down. Earth paddles its quivers underfoot. The time bends to your awakening. Rough talk scribes a matter that cannot be seen, felt like fire on the downlow, unclenching its fists. There. You see it, don't you, it's right there, under your eyes, under your skin, boiling blood, kicking the heart upheavals, like a rushed love, faces blown from their skulls. You can taste it. Luscious. The scarlet air fluttering. Look up. The radio cloud widens. You knew it would happen. You knew. It's yours. Now.