deepundergroundpoetry.com
Of Jörmungandr
Wonder waves blow on the city — prism round from salt.
Ditches, groundwater unbind drainage,
flood linen to the sky.
The flavor of the fire in the sun on the froth.
Released, the dew soaks its nature.
Would the wood walls reject their moss,
we could say this world was ours.
Bellies full too much — they run to the sand.
The cyclone closes its somber eyes
and withdraws to the marsh.
In between the boonies and the marsh,
the dust nestles in daisy.
Daisy called to the highland trees,
"Raise your glasses."
Ditches, groundwater unbind drainage,
flood linen to the sky.
The flavor of the fire in the sun on the froth.
Released, the dew soaks its nature.
Would the wood walls reject their moss,
we could say this world was ours.
Bellies full too much — they run to the sand.
The cyclone closes its somber eyes
and withdraws to the marsh.
In between the boonies and the marsh,
the dust nestles in daisy.
Daisy called to the highland trees,
"Raise your glasses."
Published 1st Mar 2019
| Edited 8th Jun 2020
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