photo from pixabay
Becoming Bark
Outstretched arms Swaying Waving her in Gnarly fingers Rapacious Rooting her in Molten scales Crawling up her limbs Conquering her body Among falling leaves She remains. Here today, gone tomorrow Today Motorway To nowhere But darkness, Delicate arched foot Glued To the pedal Landscape Racing past Today Gone Tomorrow Almost here A click of the fingers A ring of smoke A road A tunnel Delicate arched foot Grey Thumb tied up Today Gone Tomorrow Unborn Unanswered They dig right under where it is Where it should be Where you point A molten finger, Underneath That stone angel. This is where she is, Was. Her eternal residence Below moody skies Avalanches Of unanswered questions Rage Tears. They dig, but she’s not there Revolving blue lights Revealing confusion, Panic Consternation. She’s gone they say, She’s gone you can see A box empty Of all that was left Proof Reality Tragedy. She’s gone and with it The murmured claims Of your insanity. And You will never know. Short bio: B F Jones is French and lives in the UK. She writes flash fiction and poetry and her debut poetry collection The Only Sounds Left as well as her flash fiction collection Artifice are both published by The Alien Buddha. A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with B F Jones SPOTLIGHT: The Only Sounds Left by BF Jones from Alien Buddha Press
