elephantrock

Light comes from our hands. Our fingerprints will never fail us Calloused fingertips will handle what our palms cannot contain. I will not speak- I will not push the ground into my feet I will not leap in circles through a cloud of tangerine This Agent Orange that haunts the dreams of all the men And every etching- every ember In remembrance of the blasts, And aiming shots into her glass, and aiming shots into her glass And aiming shots into her glass It glitters, golden in the dimmer lights And littered through the dusty night And bitter to the point of passing sequins through her eyes And aiming shots into her glass, and passi