Poem: sky & hill

Preface: I wanted to experiment with a sort of weird surrealism, and telling more of a concrete narrative in my poems.  (I also can't think of what to call this. I originally was going to call it by the first line, but then though that would ruin the punch of the first line.  I don't want to call it "sky & hill" because it sounds like its some sort of myth/origin story about the sky and hills.)

"sky & hill"

Hilltop death

the closest place to the sky

pours over the globe

in its thick, blue paint.

I can taste the acrylic

like salt on my lips.

Only the breeze under my lashes

and the great, blue, nothing

And one small shape.

Far away,

a smoky flaw in the horizon.

In buttercups and star-shaped bells

time passes

the creaks of insect legs

and grass falling

under the kissing blue

My shape has become a palm,

pushing toward me out of that blue

soaring close

over great space 

A thick, wallpaper arm

molton, blue, bending

into a shoulder

a neck

a torso

Pulling the sky to the hill 

in an endless skin.

blue jewel lips part

opening its huge mouth

and engulf my face, then my head like a diadem,

swallowing,

leaving me at last with only the

recollection of the bristling wolf-hair on its shoulders.