Out of town again

I am going to be out of town for the next nineteen days at a writing program which will take me to exciting locations. This mirrors the month-long trip I took earlier this summer with my family. There are benefits to being financially dependent on your parents after all.

When I get back I hope to be a much better writer. I will maybe blog something that will showcase this.

In the meantime, this is the most recent thing I wrote.


Were I hollow

Were I hollow
inside of me there would be no sun,
just the dusk's leftover light,
lapping on a tranquil bay
lined with soft small grained sand
and not crags.

Inside of me there would be seasons
and they would change in weeks instead of months.

There would be three seasons:
the season of peace
the season of unrest
the season of plagues.

And in the season of plagues (mercifully short) the skies
inside of me would rain rich red
and the rains would nourish the croplands and the peoples.

And in the season of peace there would be eyes
of baby birds, bright, black, filmless,
and the birds would have soft beaks like soft shelled crabs
and the yolks of their eggs would be a pure luminous green
and flawlessly round.

And where in another universe
bone could be
would be solid marble columns
built under the name of some almighty figure
and where my ribs could be
would be a viney jungle
frosty instead of humid
with Christmas wildlife instead of shrieking
toucans and parrots and myna birds
and beyond the atmosphere tarp of my skin
there would be--

impenetrable worlds,
each its own vessel.