…my friend, the marrow of the gods, the black thin walls that scratch out story after story, a billion bright stars shot through with deaths eye, from birth to age, the burial of wisdom is broken by trees that never died, as I hunted and fished for clocks wound backwards, on rainy nights, the wolf stalked my country side, while I asked god whose blood colored the sea, at elevens : eleven they looked down on me, I sunk in the river, in a mattress without comfort, happiness unfound in the dead feathers cushioning my skull, as their ancestors spoke in song upon the trees that would not die, I understand I am a fool, 37 years it is my birthday.

-Josh Fleming

Inspired by and words re-arranged with my own from: After Ikkyu and other poems, by Jim Harrison




Leave a Reply

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

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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