Our fickle yolk takes center stage
atop cerulean coastal mountain plains.
Hastily it dissipates and spreads
its fiery golden legs on the horizon.
With this comes a climax
carving out relief for centuries gained
and centuries that remain
grieving a future reflex.
The range grows dark and bluer yet
as the hue of our flame stays
fevered on it’s silhouette.
Somewhere – beyond where eyes can reach it,
a westward star sinks deepest
into Pacific Ocean beaches.
First Kills: It’s a Miracle if This is Finished
a debut album review by Ghosts of Earth One year ago, Estevan Munoz and …