. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Wednesday, November 6, 2013

A Headless Girl in the Woods

The arroyo stands silent in contemplation as she gets undressed,
drops her blue jeans and pulls off her shirt,
long reaching ferns hang over the creek,
her belly soft and pale,
the green canopy and the cliffs above,
her shoes muddy from the climb down,
this hidden valley in the city,
apartments somewhere,
careers somewhere,
her toes leave dimples in the damp moss,
a carpet of pine needles,
a collection of grey boulders,
somewhere a man throws a frisbee to his dog,
somewhere the street lights change,
all lost to the fertile canyon,
filtered out by the trees,
she rolls her panties over,
a last stitch of clothing clinging to a white waist,
purple triangle,
she pads across the ground and waits,
ten seconds to put her hands on her hips,
the arroyo leans in,
holding its breath for her,
her curves in the camera’s curved lens,
a  jealous eye blinks,
she’s been caught,
a naked girl alone in the woods,
but not by the city somewhere,
by the rocks,
by the water,
and by me.



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