Poets trip to the Mountain

A swarm of poets search for insight to consume.
like vultures hovering over a carcass
They scout the mountain.
I have pretended a Native spying the trail to Oregon
a train of blank canvas
a cloud of dust
Neighboring tribe far north the river,
 beyond the sea, beyond the moon.
The view has no poetry. 
This mountain conceals inspiration,
my shadow has become a rock
The vultures unite in dismay
while I hear echoes from oxen blend with the wind.
The poets insist that they descend into the valley
            in their wagon,
To become vultures of the land.

Advertisements

Talk with someone and smile.

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s