leads me back to my past,
fatherly stones burn my feet,
these oceans will be extinct.
I’m pissed at God, but tell me who has not been,
and because I dream, my skull surfs in torrents
in the fed echinacea leaves, and scimitar tree-limbs
the red gut of the Atlantic, and the frozen fingers
of rock; summer smites, sandspit
dissects her dead
feelings from her feet to her head.
© 2021 Pseudopsychosis All Rights Reserved.
Originally published August 13th, 2021 in Edge of Humanity Magazine. Many thanks again to Joelcy Kay for accepting my work and publishing it in the magazine. It’s an absolute honor to have my work included there.