They raised them to the light, cawing in flight, destruction hammers the nests, nothing survives, the naked membrane of the furthest wave, the mutilated air coughs black lightening, a curvature of silence clings to the shattered remains, a feather tugging at gravities waist, death opening doors, wounded hands purified by fire, the geography of hostility settles in deep channels, a garden to bury humanities arrow, nothing is wanting, tucked under her garment, the original rest.

-Josh Fleming

Inspired by: Pablo Neruda words taken and rearranged with my own from Neruda’s Selected Poems

Image by: Michal Mozolewski



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s