The Coast

the coast.
without trees or pastured scenery
are hills hidden by spear shaped like hair made from tortured grass.
grey, dismal and near death,
until the wind waves and
shows their heart.
the darkened air
is haunted
by the wings of blackened crows–
a place that thrives all alone,
like me,
yet, without the dilution of breathing.
it is the single most passionate place
i could ever want to be.

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