Apocalyptic poems, posted every m-f.

buffalo

when words become obsolete
we won’t discard them, no
instead chopping them and twisting them,
fashioning names out of the things we no longer have -
we’ll call this place turmeric
call your baby hope

our language is a buffalo,
the future brings with it scarcity
and we must use everything we’ve got.

Advertisement

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.