interstate prophet,
your staff
is crooked and lean.
release the witness
you hold in your hand
from her bottle
and sail
among the cars
on wings won
among bones
in shadows of the cross.
your message,
scattered along the curb,
tangled and broken,
won't get far
without your breath.
pick it up
and swallow.
your words, too pure
to fall,
must hang from the trees
and the door posts -
mud, damnation,
and all.
1/1/11
Welcome!
- Tim Morris
- Withering Cedars, Georgia, United States
- My name is Tim Morris. I currently dwell in Northwest Georgia on my estate, Withering Cedars, nestled at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, with my lovely wife and two beautiful daughters, where I teach high school American literature. I have been writing poetry for the majority of my life. I write about what I see around me. When asked, I describe my style as "realist romantic surrealism". The environment, sex, jazz, religion, politics, family, etc., are the subjects on which I tend to focus. When I am not writing, I play the banjo, didgeridoo, or drums or wander aimlessly shooting odd objects with my camera.
4 comments:
terrific!!!
mud, damnation,
and all.
Thanks!
This captures/creates a great visual.
Excellent.
thanks! i felt sorry for the man as he tried to cross the busy highway with his staff and ruck-sack.
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