Surely, goodness
Teach me.
Where's the wild woolies,
wanderer?
I’ll probe, and
I’ll poke; I'll
Prick all my plump fingers.
All these rough and rambling places
wear my oozing ruby blood,
‘cause I’m looking to discover
what it is that
I should know.
I could ride on the wind with the embers
from your bonfire,
or drink in the depths of your best fishing hole.
But would I reach heaven?
Restore my soul?
Would I,
borne up on smoke into turbulent airs,
and swept up in opposing fronts,
be hurled to the ground by the clamor of storm?
For dust I am (to dust they will return me).
Or would I sink in the waters toward something insidious,
some pocket of motor oil,
that seeped over years
and poisoned the sanctity of virgin dirt?
Just... tell me something, Moe.
Is this the promised land?
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/53qh49/carved/d7w54ft https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/53rr3m/the_storm_to_be_she/d7w3l7y
Posted Sep 25, 2016, 2:35 PM UTC · edited
I like this. Good use of enjambment. I liked your elemental imagery. It seems like there is a transition where the narrator at the beginning is more naive, where by the end they are question much more than the beginning. That I am curious about. Otherwise, pretty sweet.