Friday, June 04, 2010

SLICK



Little slithery ink ball, wings stuck. Bleats from a bird throat. Low slow moan. Bodies lift, succumb into gummy plumbed crude seep. And the blot laps miles: purple green sheen.

-- from Passenger Flight

2 comments:

Dreamsmoke said...

Hi, Brian. Thanks for your piece from "Passenger Flight." It's amazing that you foresaw the future. Everyone should be a poet; that or we should have poets back in the royal courts, making predictions and influencing leaders with their dreams.

David P. said...

slick indeed ...