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Your Burnt Edges

Monday, 9. January 2012 20:00

the enso

A grove of burnt pine trees in Bandelier National Park

"Scorched" by marlowe

the poem

They say a scorched moth is later
quite shy but you continue still,
brave because you have no choice
but to rise from the coals,
not like a phoenix
but more like a spine
standing amid the blitz
as though these bombs
are the least of your worries. Your trunk
is charred, its past unrecognizable, brittle,
old rings forgotten by new growth.
Your green tips reveal hope, forever
reaching for the future, the sky, you will
not pause for survivor’s guilt
or speculation. Here comes
another storm.

Category:Ephemeral, Plant | Comments Off | Author:

Until Rabbits Get Guns

Monday, 3. October 2011 18:30

the enso

A sign that says "Ain't No Fun When The Rabbits Got The Gun"

"A Sign of the Times — West Texas" by marlowe

the poem

Wind turbines will dot
the West Texas horizon
like giant mutant daisies,
compete for attention
with the stout oil rigs, each
mining the earth. You will dine
al fresco in 100-degree shade
and realize hydration
is a zero-sum game. Dust
devils and vultures will spiral
together, side by side
in the same field
like synchronized swimmers.
There will be no water here.
Prickly pears will stub
shiny, barren fields like bristles.
The trees will retreat,
dormant ribbons of rust
striating the bluffs bleached
blond by the sun. The highway
will manifest in front of you,
achieving solidity
a few hundred feet at a time
from a shimmering wet path
that melts at the horizon,
always just out of reach,
a mirror reflecting back
to you the future.

Category:Animal, Human, Mineral, Plant | Comments Off | Author: