Obsidian Archer

A day of rain and mist. While working in the basement, I discovered a tiny, black cricket. Seeing or hearing these insects at the end of summer and throughout the fall, I often think of this small poem written by my neo-surrealist friend, Roger Parish:

DEAD CRICKET

You sprawl
like a crushed piano,
O obsidian archer!

For you,
the siege is over
and the song forgotten.
Never again
will your dark arrows
pierce my screens.

Posted on 27 de agosto de 2017, 03:54 AM by scottking scottking

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Fotos / Sons

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scottking

Data

Agosto 26, 2017 09:08 PM CDT

Descrição

Cricket
found in basement
Northfield, Minnesota

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