“old wood” by tom reed
hollow, solid shell holding mind
& sighing leaf above ?
skin on the rough bark
hands on solitude
( damn the oak, the pine, the cedar, & the yew )
forest where time runs down
finding quiet of shadow
& pouring rain!, down thick .
feet bare in wet moss
under the hanged skeleton
within our cemetery forest
( damn the larch, the elm, & the weeping willow )
it is night aeternum, autumnal
with these deep wind wrought polished
( this music )
& this tree !
damn the ash!, still blooming .
inviolate warden tree
swing in the fungal shallow
of this solipsistic soul
a seedling in the rotting skull
“there is something to be said about words that sound. sounding to memories, or fear, or memory, or other things. if my words can bring strangeness – oddity – the weird – to life, it is sound.”
tom can be found at amarthis.com.