Occasionally I am:
A bullet guided
By a sniper’s aim;
A snowflake dragged
Earthward by gravity;
A leaf on the precipice
Of green and burnt orange.
Pulled and teased; the tide
Is my brother. I move, zombie
Like, into the horizon; feet
Shuffling on forgotten land.
Groaning for intelligence,
I feast on my imagination–
A cannibal of creativity.

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
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