A Flask of Guts For a Throat of Sky

 




My snakeskin flask is oozing deep,
ablaze in a sweating chill of wet,
a trail of stone for a thirsty sky,
a swaying pouch on the breeze at ease...

my teeth in the creek, I roil in peace,
a tongue from the dirt my guts to lay
a chin of rock in the gushing swim
by the slithered coil of a crawfish cloud...

that babbling brook will sweeten my hook,
where I cut my hands on slips from grips,
a gully shine I squeeze until dark
to tear the moon from a cliffside lip...

& for every inch that I can wrench...
as dawn alights with creaming bite...
a coiling deep from reptile sleep...
awake in the stream & swilling dream...

& when my cup goes dry, I'll fill it with sky
& drink with ease to your cooling breeze.


~2013~