tress fort

sun’s up, no denying

seagull prints on snow

there’s no light-house

just tired smoke

cobalt regrets,

and whistles

of arctic

drafting over

the small breasts

covering her thin ribs

like sheaths of gauze

her bones, his piano

he said, her pulse

was the bass

—–

his rhythm turns me on

squirming feet are delight

let’s sift the ashes

into will-power’s urn

seal it with shivers

the wax of white

knuckles

i never make mistakes

so let’s do this again

and again and

again 

12 thoughts on “tress fort

  1. Ah, I love that title! And this: “there’s no light-house / just tired smoke / cobalt regrets”

    This should be in a song for the masses:
    “like sheaths of gauze
    her bones, his piano
    he said, her pulse
    was the bass
    his rhythm turns me on”

    If you don’t make it in the poetry world, you should write songs.

    I really like this: “seal it with shivers / the wax of white / knuckles” … right on through to the ending. Very creative. You’re so good.

  2. Vibrant imagery love the gauzy moment …

    “covering her thin ribs

    like sheaths of gauze

    her bones,”

    Excellent write…I love the parts that Shawna mentions as well!!

    Great theme here…the roots and webs…yes, love this.

    Nice to meet you! 🙂

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