LIKE THE SMALLEST MOUNTAINS

Say they were one naked, shameful thing carrying the inflection of imagined eternity.
Like a blue hand beneath a blue glove?




Say the ethereal load was a story in which nothing could happen.

Like a blue willow bending into blue water?



Say in the story everything went well.


Like a mouthful of bleeding wine from the corners of their mouth?


Say nothing was worth the attention nor required action.


Say the mountains blue soaked with rain and without meaning were unable to rise from the plains.

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from House of Bad Melodies–published by Greying Ghost

Buy it here

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By Douglas Piccinnini 👍