the titles reached up high,
the mountains of fantasy
dominating the upper reaches
in long stretches of hard-to-say
names and strange england-like
lands, then came the crime
in black-and-white city streets
and men with eyes too haggard,
then bright-souled coming of age
novels, asking for optimism and love.
at the bottom sat the poems
tucked into notebooks.
let’s light up bones
looking for pictures
in the smoke, let’s
lose ourselves lacking
the future we’d find
pluming from those
ivory cracked constructs,
let’s light up souls
with the words
we wish we could find.
the valley fled from the thought of us
unimpeded by the wind or rocks,
axes brought to bear against trunks
and arrows notched at old souls,
curious in their repose at new faces
contorted with emotions they couldn’t
understand or know – the rage
of an unenlightened world.
delving sideways along a desk of maimed nature
through notes of crushed-stabbed papers scrawled
with arcane, ill-thought, ill-felt runic ramblings
damning some and soul-saving others
making exceptions without feeling-thinking
who goes ahead and who is left behind
to bleed-black on volcanic dead-rock.