by Best Poem
However wilted proves my skin and thought,
some cough in fisted, parchment fingertips,
a rodent’s likeness still sips
atop my talk-
I am across the planks, a dynamic age.
No matter I am yet without the sand’s Sun,
the drying, droughter’s run;
I am engaged
by a wilderness: bright filaments and bells;
I call my kind pause from daily task,
and whispering, I must ask
their loveliest hells.
Ray Succre currently lives on the southern Oregon coast with his wife and baby son. He has been published in Aesthetica, BlazeVOX, and Pank, as well as in numerous others across as many countries. His novel Tatterdemalion (Cauliay Publishing) is forthcoming in early 2008. He tries hard.