Visions Appalachia

This moldering threshold 'pon the hoof of my door

It slithers

Mutates

Spins into the face 

I recognize, 

Once a terra cotta,

The arrogance, your naked seedling, 

In my sacred lips Virginia

My flesh of Appalachia

Green, though your

longing hills

circling round, where deep

beneath me a watchful wolverine

in feverish decay, stays its guard

A light to force in fire,

A visceral tribulation.

Arms filled to the bone in blue

Every word a passionate cancer, 

Patiently pleads,

Save us our womb of constancy,

Our sage of sense and evergreen,

Allow us this natural deity 

bloomed from sister's cast;

three tiered in fate 

as days will crow

A prayer of warning as 

Orbs form in earths's

sandy contemplation:

Dripping for our wounds 

are these ragged stairs

The howl from door's descendant

While we descend the moldering

indifferent.