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Tis of Thee

By on May 6, 2015

206 tisofthee

Written by Guest Author. For more writing by the same author, check out Eden.

Rated PGI swallow my country and it swallows me whole. Incandescence illuminated across the sky like a constellation. The horse we ride. The tale we tell. Each emblazoned like a banner because we are so in love with love. This maturing, this slow decay. We return to our source and seek ourselves until we find infinity. Which is never. Which is always. We seek our selves and lose our source. You race your eyes across the page, I fling my arrow across the screen, and now this moment means something. It is so full and pregnant with meaning. It glows. And now a billion automatic reflexes to these external stimuli fire in your brain as nanoscopic synapses. Choreographed in color as if the whole world were a living song. That I swallow. Whose tune I sing to in the orchestra of the American night, with our crickets and our glowbugs, our guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations. We slide our fingers through each other’s hair, our eyes are globes, our skin a flag. The world is ours, and in this moment, right now, hanging there, we are so young, electric, beautiful, and doomed.

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