I scratch the mosquito bites on my skin and the mountaintops wear away revealing the beginning and end of the bronze-age. Rusty nails puncture deeper the surface as leeches and butterflies emerge, not gasping but following, drilling the veins of time. Some will suffer, all will die and change, rapid like flesh. Copper valued until gold comes. Then? There will be more tap, tapping for more dripping spirit, metallic blood. The poison of the soul haunts me until I can free a geothermal laugh.
©2017, Amaya Engleking