sun beat on my face,
angel of 16 wings cry
from the lodgepole pines,
the magpies sing of tragedy,
the nereids bubble indignation,
and i think
i think i found a god there,
sunlight paint me in colors of hearth,
reds and yellows and oranges,
hue of fire and of home.
you can see through my skin,
examine bone and blood alike,
see the place where i have been held,
and the places where i have not,
watch my heart beat,
ever so slow,
no more than the beat
of a galloping horses hooves.
the dogs mock me,
they bark their freedom and they
howl their home,
they pray the moon call them wolves,
and the sun call them pups,
the sea call them albatross,
and yet,
they are dog,
and they call of my namesake,
of stories of hubris and home,
wax wings and manes of seafoam,
they call my fate,
and the gods have sent them,
and so they sing the song of sirens.
-icarus
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an idiots guide to life; how to survive the badlands of wyoming
Poetrythe slightly deranged ramblings of a teenage trans guy living in wyoming there's no overarching theme but there sure is a lot of dogs, horses, and god(s) . i do not know what i am talking about 97% of the time mostly posted chronologically in order...
