Apocalyptic poems, posted every m-f.

the way the sky and the earth look

on hot summer days when it gets rainy
in the valley,
everything gets stuck mid-air

the smoke ascending
from perry’s range
trapped billowing black,  flecks of ash
gathering like crows

coal mine in the sky,
the earth wrapping around itself
like a womb,
cradling a dead planet.

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