Ezekiel's Tears

[ellajam]

Hi, crow, I love a good snapshot poem. This one has some issues that cloud it instead of sharpening it. I've put just a few notes below, as I read your comment on it being placed in Mild Critique. IME, the critique on this site will rise to the level of potential the posters think the poem has, where ever the poem is posted. I always take it as a compliment when the big guns are pulled out on one of mine.

Ezekiel's Tears

Day breaks purple on the canyon faces.
Cactus, white as bone with teardrop pads, White of bone bores me, while teardrop pads interests me.
Grip the stone, as the sun overtops the crags, Not a fan of overtops.
And bloom red, waxy, smelling graceless,
Rancid, mean. Bluefly swarm the stamens, I love swarm the stamens.
Grow swollen, wasted, glittering hazily as
The sun drives like a bison cross the chasm. I picture a bison flying across the chasm, I'd also prefer plural bison to go with drives.
The white pads flush green as her rays

Slip down the dome of the deserted sky. Bats
Drop flightless from the deep creases, beneath the weird
Formations, as the day dies, fall as dead,
Toward the closing blossoms, thick with feted
Fly, spread suddenly their leather traps,
Feast, and scatter the seed of Ezekiel's Tears.