Friday, September 11
2026-09-11
when i need to be going somewhere,
i wind up somewhere else.
taking a path unemerged,
virgin lands not so virgin,
lying the ruins of those that lied,
the stench of iron still lingers.
it evokes something red,
those that died are now dead.
lingers still, ailment of the ill,
still child, unkind lies,
ahead, kind awaits,
below kind lies.
all this goes somewhere,
my scent attracts hunters, i'm not a prey.
how do you want to read?
poems can unravel themselves as you read, line by line, at a considered pace — or just sit there, fully visible, like normal.
change this anytime — look for “reading: …” near the top of any poem.