my brother sits by the river
he sits with a hand grazing the waves
like the fur of a cat.
i'll sit upon the back of a horse,
adorned in an old flannel,
and some jeans- i think they were his, once-
it's not like he could care now.
my father sits besides him,
covered knee-high in ash and dirt.
they're laughing together.
it's been a while since i saw them like that.
my brother says he left a part of himself
in that old ranch house-
the one that smelled like cheap vodka and
even worse beer-
and i think i left a part of myself there, too.
i'll tell my horse to ride past the river
and they won't see me, and
and i look and i think i see my brother
starting to bury himself in the dirt
and the elk will yell
and the coyotes will sing
and i will scream,
and the osprey will sit on my shoulder and tell
of how it's all going to be okay,
dirt can be washed off,
but not this kind.
-icarus
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an idiots guide to life; how to survive the badlands of wyoming
Poetrythe slightly deranged ramblings of a teenage trans guy living in wyoming there's no overarching theme but there sure is a lot of dogs, horses, and god(s) . i do not know what i am talking about 97% of the time mostly posted chronologically in order...
