wild wheat

Making a vinok. So far this is what I will be using but there will probably be more.

it’s strange to me that tumblr has such a substantial brony population when tumblr is known for its liberals.  those two groups don’t really mix at all and I’m sure the latter was the first to populate this site, so this begs the question:  who was the first brony pioneer to decide they wanted to blog here on these lands [hand moves across, pointing towards the wild internet wheat fields]

Where it is

The satisfaction of holding
stars in my hands
and knowing my shroud is warm
with universes.

A pinprick reminder;
goose bumps rippling and rising each time
your name flows into
conversation.

                  (No. Let me start over.)

Adrenaline flooding through the
caverns and tight spaces of the circulatory
system; pupils expanding into
dark blots in a starry patch of sky.

Irises capturing the storms of Neptune
and the chases of Jupiter. The polar ice caps melting
whenever you leave me standing frozen in place.
I am a planet drowning, but my heart still beats.

                      (I think I have it.)

Wild wheat slapping against open skin. The taste
of seasons, autumn flavor masking the hint of
summer’s death. Locusts swarming for days,
settling on a patch of warm sunflowers.

The incredibly human filtering through nature. Winds
screaming through ruins in climax; a crane crooning a lullaby
to the quiet night—
the only sound you’ll ever rouse out of it.

                         (Almost done.)

The cries of a string bass, mourning the loss of innocence
in a used cello. Cellular structures
bending and twisting the fabrics of what was
into what is; the symphony of atoms. A pebble

among pebbles among rocks and trash on a beach
that houses weathered stone and whispering dune.
It is the spice that keeps me beating
heart eyes for a galaxy. Home.

–”Where there is love, there is life.” Mahatma Gandhi