hunters
BY TERRELL JAMAL TERRY
Distant blue terrifying absence—
the highest pitch of that color.
Motionless white fog of the woods,
but a cabin floats to space.
My I was impossible & so was
the turmeric taste of your reincarnation.
You’re alive. That’s crazy enough.
Circle of the same worries:
coming is coming through the cream
of moonlight sliced.
The unexpected routes won’t spoil
a destination.
Crystal thoughts while the weather drops;
frigid, yet also serene.
Dare I say, offer no smarmy hello
to consternating information?
Simply greet. Thus live it down
to the toes
& never retire in the valley
or the vines. The story told:
a massive plaster storm,
frozen cells & the broom standing in
for your spine. The wild meat
of animals replacing tainted crops.
The search.
