Prompt Images

I started this poem about driving west on I-70 to Denver at night the way the lights of the city come into view from Limon bleeding out onto the plain trapped against the clouds pushed up by the Front Range how as you get closer the light grows first into the wet meat of a plum surrounded by purpled skin then into a lampreys mouth rounded with shadows and mountains for teeth then finally into curtains choked with fire dust in my diary nineteen years ago though it may look different now

Zach Straus

Zach Straus peaked at 15 and is mostly held together by masking tape.

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