Kryston Lopez

cold colossus

crane your neck

to the dingy wool of sky.

the trees collide:

               all verdant and crashing—


bright flash

-es of green

               -ness against


the oyster lid,

wet and murky.


it’s almost brazen the way they





those shivering ornaments—

veins swollen with water

pulse with electric

chroma souls.


and the cars are beeping,


tires shriek homage to the 

slick streets,

onyx sheets of asphalt

as they dodge

umbrella-huddled hunchbacks

that hopscotch

a    cr      o      s          s

puddled intersections.


pregnant sky,
Mother sky,
meets infant earth

with wailing city mouth

that drinks and drinks

her nectar.




Kryston currently resides in New Jersey, but her heart and her home are in Texas. She writes poetry while on the train to her job at a boutique wine shop in NYC.