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.