The swamp claws its way through the mud. Water moccasin waking late in the winter’s artful sun. Hiding in the putrid belly of the forsaken shade of the brown-haired trees, he lay gazing. He sees in black and white. Stalking prey with a proud skinny neck and blockish head, he hunts. Choctaw child, feet raw…
Category: Sycamore
my new poem “Sycamore” Now live on MasticadoresIndia ( Now called ChewersMasticadores )
skin barren exposing my dense white trunk as I sighcolor falls from me as the cold earth is bitingabsent my ample blanket to shelter birds passing by To continue reading “Sycamore,” visit MasticadoresIndia ( now called ChewersMasticadores ). To read more of MasticadoresIndia please visit and be sure to follow and subscribe!
