by Paul Ilechko
Curled and crumbled in upon as bee stung as lips turning from yellow beneath the variegated purples that still hold strong against the summer’s decay
night will force recovery drinking the dew point as it charges you your swallowing within the silence while heads are closed
too remote to be conditioned by the leather extremities that shade some other garden the tucking of wings and mammalian “almost flight”
exploiting as you do the grip of moisture somewhere beneath the mulch a thought emerges a seedling tickles itself into timing and explodes as life.
Paul Ilechko is the author of the chapbooks “Bartok in Winter” (Flutter Press) and “Graph of Life” (Finishing Line Press). His work has appeared in a variety of journals, including Juxtaprose, As It Ought To Be, Cathexis Northwest Press, Inklette and Pithead Chapel. He lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ.
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