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based off of this post

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Mountains of the Sea by Ray Collins

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no talk to me hooman, i’m angy

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And they lived happily ever after.

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“Harriet Tubman graces the Lee monument this evening, beneath a quote: “Slavery is the next thing to hell,” and “BLM.”

-  Zach Joachim 

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bronze

Memory bruised a spill of midnight purple, silver 

like how winter haunts the tomb of Autumn and 

still she forgets each spring the same.

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Autumn, her gilded branch after branch spilling Dorothy’s slippers–ruby, gold

and 

the brambles begged to meld us like sun and soil to form

blackberry, raspberry–again, ruby.

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Allegedly, the moonlight paints your back every color of summer.

Supposedly, we walked backwards all night.

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You were stripping the feverish wires in your spine to pure copper and 

I was prying the tin roof off my silence until 

We could taste

Bronze.

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My ribcage strains to be closer still to every stomp of your heart pacing

just outside my periphery, as though 

our bodies were a coastline I might cross over, into, alligate

form an alloy–

something unsinking.

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