Tumbleweed

Cloistered, showered,
smothered in smooth-looped luxury
designed to absorb.
 

Chamomile conditioned,
volition lost amongst the numb folds
of a Turkish export.
 

Hiss-spit-shed,
slip out into the drip-drop rain
of a soft-soaped sky.
 

Stride, naked, hoopy frood-like,
across the scarred lawn
for that line-dried scratchy rag
 

its abrasion welcome
if only to feel something
rough enough
 

to slough off
ophidian skin
and watch it blow away.
 
 

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1 Comment

Filed under Free Verse, Tercets

One response to “Tumbleweed

  1. ” . . Hiss-spit-shed,
    slip out into the drip-drop rain
    of a soft-soaped sky.”

    So beautiful, flowing, truthful, profound in its simplicity.
    Nice. Very nice.

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