By Brett Glasscock
Editor's Note: Due to the formatting of this work, it is best viewed on desktop.
Ahead and years
Before us
ATVs or park vehicles
Trod and cracked
Central Texas soil,
More rock than anything,
Into something like gravel into something
Like a walking path.
No, paths: two parallel, uttering ahead of us.
On either side,
A paroxysm of yellow,
Searing. The flowers, thousands,
A legion,
At least—
Yellow irises black pupils they stared.
Like weeds, they grew in armies.
Like weeds, deserters grew
Into stones.
This isn’t
An illwritten metaphor;
Their roots cracked the rocks,
And their eyes drank the sun
And their yellow, so searing,
I can only touch it
With mixed metaphor.
Brett Glasscock is an emerging queer writer living and working in Austin, Texas. His work has previously appeared in Echo and Naked Cat. To pay the bills, he works an administrative job at the University of Texas, where he has only kind of put his Bachelor's in Rhetoric/Writing to use. All pieces are co-written by his three cats. You can find him on Twitter.
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