Midway between this deepest map crease
and the broad expanse of what lies west
of Newport News below Lynchburg,
occurs a patch of trilled lines
that might be rivers, but are roads,
on which each anticipated step
turns trespass. My hypothesized Virginia
occupies a sector of the page from which
hot moisture rises in July. Surrounded by
a fevered pulse. The dulcet southern
speech that overflows proposed
dimensions won't contort factual
softness into twin facing angles.
Truer angels defy the notion
of Virginia in a box, via higher
potency of a land replete
with rivers, ripe with
summer prior to the chill
to follow that outweighs
projection of inhuman mathematics.
No comments:
Post a Comment