Death in a Forest for Reasons Unknown
By Walter Burns
Dream when Spring Leaves behind A heave of finger Slung across The cool, wet, dirt The forest leaves A paper trail Magnetic poems Splayed on the ground Winter’s tail Still whips these parts A play whose language Precedes its cause “I’m the wind that strikes you down” Unseen his words Feel brittle now A mad breeze burns Floods frantic hair The skin of drunken need All will twist upon a course That nature slowly weaves Each poem lost Or burned for fuel A catalyst A need for more As dampened dirt From loss of blood Has finger Dig your grave I will find you and read your work… You who fell not far from tree Written January 28th, 2002 © on Jan 27 2002 04:25 PM PST 0 • 1
AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.
About this line
"Dream when Spring..."