Author: kmarieclark

The Lost River

Drip drop druid forest,

Thick white batons lay on the floor,

Knick knock in the rock,

Let’s find a face.

.

We crawled on our bellies,

Knelt before the sea alter,

Shimmied along rock crags,

–Muddy and melting between the glacier ice

That carved smooth pot-holes.

.

Lemon squeezing grandpas,

The echos filled with children’s laughter,

Climbs against boulders at your back,

Angled ladders,

.

Small streams and colorful rocks crossed our pathway.

Around beaver brook’s base,

The water’s girth, a loud noise,

An incredible orchestra,

An entire journey upward,

Rock, jaded, studded waterfall,

A mountain high of meandering,

On a large rock face, over which trees had grown

Their roots had branched

And patrons had worn

Places for us to step and fall.

Wheeling and Ohio

In these western foothills

Appalachia trembles,

Tiny bombs detonated,

Shaking the river for oil.

.

Small orange bags filled with

Radio signals, computer equipment

Driven down by communication cords

Hang loose from helicopters wings above to the gas

Miles below our surface-land.

.

Tearing through the mountains,

Toppling the ancient rock,

Shaking the pockets below to the

Pockets walking the street

–Gold coins are spilling.

Into the cracked waters,

Returning,

To pay off the liquid we’re pulling

To provide everyone on earth above

Good living.

.

Why don’t we just crawl down into the caves

To drink the liquid directly?