Castle Hill

just trying to feel something

Rumpled bedspread of a post-coital Nebraska and Mars

Primordial paradox because these rocks are not dead. 

Ultraviolet imperceptibly lurid lights it all up 

     olive green cream fluid mountains 

     limestone that would laugh with you if you mattered more 

     more blue than a color can be 

     air pockets shaped like Māori men 

Not a linguistic landscape or the water I swim in

or a castle or a hill

I am more and more less welcome here 

Why not just melt into the grass?

I am the only thing that's moving

There are no straight lines

These rocks are not dead.

Author's Note

let me have it