Boulder Point (place & experience)

2010/09/09 § Leave a comment

Boulder Point

Gum leaves slap my
lips where names slip
like sand between toes.
Water, teatree, east coast
peppermint stand among words
blurred, burned, and bit.
Feet fit the mouth
when country is lost.

Dirt drinks me, rot
finds itself in me,
while skies bleach the
lot into continental time.
Then I move enough
to float like granite.

Fourteen lines, 8/6 and four words a line, but no connotative enjambment. For comparison.

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