Saturday, December 3, 2011

Ouija Poem

   
Long is the high to healing. Plunge wanton, into the desolate scar deep below the acacia heart. A missed casting? Like a school play from junior high. Circumstances are weather. They move as concerts and become a restricting embrace. Coral. One's rustic city, builds. The tree's heart yet arises, within a tower of emerald green.