marble garages worn by feet in zen Poem, by Big Swifty, at My poetic side

12/27/18 9:13PM

if i could walk back every

crumbling path and dilapidated speech

i ever trod on

i would have never moved once

i smash my rock into pieces

and still grasp at gravel

porous, miserable slough

that i line filters with

and i can’t even write

like i used to, when it was all flowery

but still scented like shit

now this skin mottles into

jagged peaks, wilderness

expression in stone

they call it a thousand yard stare

but i usually see further

you can see the horizon

right out on the lake

i blamed lithe and dour serpents

for this original guilt

but i think it goes deeper

now that i’m on the emerald isle

every morning tastes like blood

and shredded feet

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marble garages worn by feet in zen