by Becca
My full face was lit with the heat of Spring
Sun shining through the windshield
A sharp eye tuned to passing
Static that is our scenery
Among the piney woods of deep east
I listen to the drawl of mosquitoes
Dancing their ballet of single pirouettes
To surrounding oxymorons
Mumbles of sadness coughed-up laughter
Lessoned grief punctuated by
Intelligent-ignorance of a wry sense of justice
Under the canopy of branchless trees
Only the tops green with needles
The ground full of the dead
A shock of tangerine
Sunset slips through the cracks
Under the canopy of branchless trees
Only the tops green with needles
The ground full of the dead
A shock of tangerine
Sunset slips through the cracks