Fog evaporates
With the stinging heat
Of ultraviolence.

Droplets of amber
And sap bleed to
Creep like centipedes

Down the branches
And trunks
Of rubber tree forests.

So the fog is gone
As the sun stabs
Dawn into the woods.

Oxygen is sunk in
From the outside
Like golden gore.

Gas from monolithic trees
Sublimates into
Sweet sharp cigar smoke

With the strokes
Of ember splashed

When the switch is stressed,
the blade does the rest.

Published by Jake Thomas Shaw

Concerned with memory, currency, and destiny, I strive to capture each one as they happen. Join me and consume reality! Radio Reality. City!

One thought on “Switchblade

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