the clans of jie

warm blood & milk
congealing in the
midday
equatorial sun.

it smells of
iron.
sour.

flies the size of a 500 shilling coin swarm.

they are as loud as
the smell of
warm blood & milk.

recently i was asked to participate in a summer poetry project–i will share more about that later–which has shifted my minds-eye to my poet’s-voice. so, mixed with what i share for the summer project (check back!) i will be sharing some poems that have presented themselves as of late.¬†

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