|Arsenic Lobster poetry journal||
|Thirty Miles North of Forks
Humid pines prickle and fidget
against the breeze sweeping
crows’ black husks
to the power lines’ edge.
Crickets shuck themselves in the second-
growth logging swath wildflowers,
invisible as heat around stumps old
and naked and white-hot as driftwood.
A rabbit the color of dust tosses
itself away from the road’s white-
stitched seam, under a sky
sky-blue above the itchy pines.
About Joshua Rice