Poems from kathrynehigheagle
Our people’s lips
piccolo at canting birds,
spit kisses into hands
then pitch,
awaiting swift receipt.
Lips, appended
by earthmud eyes...
It’s okay
for an erratic
like moi wrapped tight
in a creature essence,
back-hitched and twisted,
bent fisting hummocks
of bless-ed...
ghet shades
princely blues hues
culture frames divide
chromas, genders
even senses...
Tongues of flame
still burned
upon her weathered skull
like Octobers
first gentle snow
on demoded
village backroads,
rockface...
Skulls nestle in treesivories picked cleanonyx orbs ruminated'rangement those first refugeesas blood burned the leaveswhite fear...