26 (The Hard Line)

Willow trees fall like shadow in the sun,
or shadow falls like willows hewn,
it’s kind of hazy
A razor sharp line, deep red,
cuts a wound through living, breathing flesh,
susurrates, expands, impossible
There are no highways on this map,
no red rivers run through veins, yet flow
beneath earth, subsurface magma glowing,
pulsing, growing angry
Hesitation and doubt restrain you, but urgency,
desperation prods you forward to
follow the hard red line

Poem by Shane Douglas Keene

READ THE SERIAL NOVEL BY JOSH MALERMAN