Tag: By D. Eric Parkison

  • Scrub Pine Grown

    By D. Eric Parkison Leaving me like this, nodding In the breeze, locked in knots From withdraw, from flicker, Fleeing the scene Where I am: cinched in a forest Cut by incandescences. This wooded trouble. My doubled being Dribbling through the branches. A wooden thought: strength of layers. Seeing where you twisted Away by the…