Poetry

To shut the methane,
you sent―
the barbs. The brutal
assault against the thimbles.
 
I will not send the
edict for withdrawl.
Even the river
was thirsty.
 
The freaks were
jumping on the fence.
An interrupted moon
was wary of them.
 
I will draw a
sand painting to heal
the man on the
beach.
 
The air smells
like an egg. As you
run, the mist
fills your eyes.