Monday, April 18, 2011

The River

Beneath my feet
the road pulls apart like black taffy.
I’ve walked a dessert to get here.
The sun is a marauding Messiah with one lid
A lizard rolls its neck in hysterics.
I’ve been told there’s no way back to you,
yet my heart’s still beating
and my feet shuffle.
the road
bleeds like inky pots of pudding,
becoming boiling streams,
and so I hold my breath,
arch my back,
and jackknife headfirst.
Opening my eyes,
I see what you’d wanted me to find
all this time.

--Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State.  His work appears widely in print and online at such places as Moon Milk Review, Fix It Broken, Pure Slush and also at

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