Savannah


A current crosses the darkness,
stirring the last dry shreds of life.

Upwind, a Buick stalks the edge of the pavement,
her voice a gentle rumble in her throat.

Her eyes simmer like the smoke snarling up
from a hammered anvil.

The neon tattoos her skin so it is
striped orange, a strobed tiger, crouched, impatient.

Feather and ivory. A slow, livid burning
in the undergrowth.

Just under the awnings they flash phosphorescence
flamingo flamingo and then vanish into air.

From the antlered shadows a drunkard lurches.
His legs spindle under him like a newborn gazelle.

The window blinds drift and flutter,
hovering wings.

Somewhere on the savannah something watches
with incandescent eyes.


6 comments:

  1. Beautiful imagery... only comment is the "its" in relationship to the Buick. Would you consider "her," giving it an even more "living" connotation?

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  2. Very astute observation, I love how detail-oriented you are, like I am.

    When I composed this, I debated this very thing. I decided that I needed "it" to connote more the feral, impersonal, predatory nature of the Buick - versus the more sympathetic and personal "his" for the drunkard, the prey.

    But then again, the "he" vs "her" dynamic might make that tension stronger; especially since the primary predators on the savannah are usually the female. Hmmm...

    Yes, "her" is the right word. Thank you.

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  3. The female imagery definitely works. Gorgeous stuff.

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  4. Short link - http://bit.ly/s4savannah

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  5. enjoyed it.

    powerful lines,

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  6. a definitely well fine tuned piece.
    smiles.

    ReplyDelete

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