Literary Vegan

Seaweed and salt, rotting skin, stone petrichor — all is open, worn sand on the wind met with fire, sharp magic  missing muscle.   Coastal bones fly wildflower low, feathers are lost but the sea keeps teal and lightening  for whoever roams red among the coves. 

The pensham bell flower, white-tubed, heartbeats blue from the fairy lights; pendulum drunk on the closer stars.

The crow's call disintegrates the distant radio. All creatures look up — a beaked shadow over the bees sucking on their suns. 

It was like finding a ladybird in a cave; red dome waterfall, black gothic lace,  we traced flashlight shadows fashioned into stone, spread ruby beetle tulle around our legs.

Mint-milk wings, feet on city-heated bricks I'll keep you sacred — we'll pray in green dresses for more places to land. 

The wagtail ascends invisible stairs trees knuckle into airy sea foam  the moon-ghost has come to collect the sweat-tear frustrations grown by the Sun — we are running into the streets.

Throat-silver ore swallowed, the cormorant conjures his coal-elbowed bone cloak to nightmare-scythe  the pond line, satisfied. 

The bull stands steampunk  out of a Blake metaphor — ribcage drip chain, rose-gold-brown bolt roaring purple. Moulded into muscle,  metal becomes smoke-born — we search for an aluminum pulse under hubs, scorched shoulder blades.

Anxiety swarms spirit insects circling my mind. You are solid; paws on my clavicle. They part for you.