BUSH SOUL
the trees are dying for me to write
I could never write a sentence to make up for that
even the air feels borrowed
breathing to death
bless the breaths in my diaphragm
I’m writing as a dying man.
new poem from the Winter 2013 issue: Jeff St. James, Bush Soul
31 Jan- Comments Leave a Comment
- Categories favorite poems, poets we love, Winter 2013
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- released today: the Worksongs for the Apocalypse issue
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