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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4096 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Peace: Out of Season Steve Williams Snow has fled from white to the strength of winter wheat. Heat is an insect alarm clock, they drift like krill; dust milk in still dusk. Dirt road of moist iron meets the hill, ditch alongside buried in thistle. Below, wood posts and wire frame green wheat swells breaking on a doe who lay in her island of matted stalks, legs folded under a pregnant belly, her back to the road that pierces an orange sun. She gazes over the fence, chews her cud. |
