Andrea Lianne Grabowski
Northwestern Michigan College
the walls of the maze are separating.
vegetative particles tenderly comb their fingers through
the arrows on my jaws. such somatic reassurance.
turtles are roaming the lonely shore — they tell a prophecy
of pollution. overhead, keys turn in the locks of the afterglow and
decay pours out. will we always be grieving the fireflies?
my diagnosis is embodiment of starving personhood. the land
needs more seeds, needs us to stay, needs us to spit on men who
call rapture on the copper and stolen fronds. the land needs us to
burn bridges of emerald wrath. there is nothing more to
bear witness to. we are irreplaceable. listen to the
desire of starlight. it doesn’t matter if you’re illiterate.
just put your hand on the thorax of electrified roses.
a bird landed on the fiddler and i felt some relief.
the struggle continues. i am thirsty for all my companions
to be as bold as i wish i was. come, be thieves with us,
the thunder in the storyline of a compass toward honor.
the land has too many bruises already. we cannot forsake
her, belly plump with granite disease and
flight. catharsis is on the verge of emerging. we just need
another summer. no more half-guessed spoonfuls of meat.
fuse together molotov cocktails, sustaining grains, and
the powerful fight the powerful.