December 9, 2008

Untitled Dream That Led Me To Stop Believing

by Zachary C. Bush

Half asleep walking
Through paths of ash
and broken glass
the wind whips
the tops of the waves.

I hear the howling
of the winter-winds
and feel sticky sand
between my toes.

These Elders, pale and thin, are crouched
behind the high-reed, rolling dunes. They
are watching me, watching The Girl,
watching the blue-skinned children
wash up with the stain-red tide.

The sea recedes back
into its gut. The air reeks
of rotting fish and burnt eggs:
my many nightmares of you.

And I am falling while standing
up. I awake, and touch
The soles of my burning feet
They are caked thick with
The Ash of The Dead.

*from All Avenues Lead To The Vortex [vol. 1] (chapbook)

*Zach's blog: DECAPSWAN.


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