June 21, 2012 § Leave a comment

there is a luminous
silent core
of small kindnesses
sending thin bright tendrils
to the edges
where most of us live,
as assemblage
built on barbarism
and layered like loose pages
long since thumbed through
and discarded
we, a stampeding illness
kicking up dust of disregard
from the hymnal
of death and renewal
as the cracks between us
fill with silt
absently swiping threads
of light from our shoulders


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

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

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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 )


Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading stampede at Fred Whitehead's Blog.


%d bloggers like this: