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The Acorn

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The Acorn

Flood, part 1

Lift your head from wild and wicked sleep
Where seven-headed serpents hiss soliloquies
And while picking snails from the river of the valley
You don't see the storm clouds piling up so quietly
The rushing river rattlesnakes your legs
And baby boy has got you drinking from the dead
You lick your lips and paddle for the levee
The sinking banks are sifting through your teeth
As you float up, see the river skins the valley
And strips the sleeping sediment of memory
You lift your head from wild and wicked sleep
The withered river sputters at your feet
And all around the sound is slow and muddy
The sunlight scatters pennies through the leaves
As you wake up see the river skins the valley
You'd love to wash this summer from your memory