Avalanche
the avalanche comes down
the Rockies
the beast slouches towards Bethlehem
I’m mowing a hedge
I’m putting the strimmer down
sweating, and saying I’m owed a ‘treat’
saying I’m owed something I can
put in my muscle memory
and locate twenty days from now
on a Wednesday when innocence is drowned
so I drink on the porch
tequila like shots of snake poison
white rum like shots of the juice from my eyes
and I put a big cigar in my teeth
and wear a shirt of Aberdeen flowers
bleak oblique and melancholic
and watch the mountain
diminish on its slide
to where angels have burned out and fallen
ABOUT THE ARTIST
Tempest Miller is a writer from the UK. His work has appeared in Boats Against the Current, Swamp Pink and JAKE. He releases a monthly chapbook on Amazon. His Instagram is @tempestm1ller.
Image generated on DreamStudio
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