The CrustA Poem by Laura KateHe ran my fresh rivers to coal pockets of tempestuous heat forced the waters to boil wild salmon abandoned their homes and the empty riverbanks dried. Pre-historic rocks left sleeping below the ground were woken by the nudging light winking at them from the riverbeds. Disturbed by impending stillness they dragged themselves up to see smoked air burning to a crust boiling rivers hurtling down to the edges of the earth and over with them I went. © 2020 Laura KateFeatured Review
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