there is a light at the end of the world
and it is brighter than comprehension,
leaving the rest of the world in darkness,
a navy blue,
rich and textured,
impalpable.
the moon rose above the southern edge
of the horizon/of home
on the first of the month of Feare,
the season of the fish,
and i am no longer a child.
she cried with the sunset
when the dampened grass touched her ankles,
and so the first light is grey,
mourning her.
your words mean more than life itself
your voice older than dirt,
your knowledge older than the earth
on which you tread.
sometimes i wonder if you are an angel,
pray tell,
was your name gabriel?
does you back ache from your lack of wings,
as does mine?
do you taste honey and aged whiskey
when you run your tongue over
all too dull teeth?
-icarus
YOU ARE READING
an idiots guide to life; how to survive the badlands of wyoming
Poetrythe slightly deranged ramblings of a teenage trans guy living in wyoming there's no overarching theme but there sure is a lot of dogs, horses, and god(s) . i do not know what i am talking about 97% of the time mostly posted chronologically in order...
