i am your wilderness
viking and
substance is ridden with
hazel
eyes and velvet temper.
i am your writer
your writer your writer
and i
am invisible if i cant
be your nothingness
sonnet.
solving the mountain shy
of dirt and hatred of
these timed inches.
with a shovel to mold
my soiled feet
and a watered ladder
to climb up with.
i am a gothic painted
librarian
wondering off into the
poetry of mummified
history.
walking painlessly with
agricultural
tempers ;
we are aggravated in
soul dehydration.
