cutting trees

cutting trees

for Rob Plath

there is blood
only-

it is a stain
of gold sap,

so we don’t recognize
it to be just that-

and its acrid scent
too strong

desperate as a sad song-

when everything is gone.

the rings
of time

soaked in blood,
just a knub

with ghost limbs
surely swaying still.
 

Please support your local authors and artists thrive, and keep art alive...

*important update!*

My new book, impress, from Punk Hostage Press, was released on November 10th, 2012!

It is available at the link below for ordering via amazon, both in book and ebook via kindle:

http://amzn.com/0985129336


Please consider buying impress, and spread the word, share my book around.

Cheers!

Happy Holidays.

-C.V.Auchterlonie
 

of emptiness

of emptiness

What dream undreamt this-
a prickled orb
of rainbow bubble.

I can never restore
this wordless poem
impressed upon
a see through blue-

the farthest it soars
still something,
too true.