is there a prerogative
rodeo queen
put your bones to use
Friday, December 24, 2021
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
A Tree in Four Parts
Part 1
I am a tree. I was born in some South American city starting with the letter 'N' that I cannot pronounce. I was born some time ago, but not having a brain, it is a year that is not right now. Whoever decides trees knows the kind of tree I am.
Quercus L., oak
Prunus serrulata, Japanese cherry blossom (despite geographical probability)
Cupressus sempervirens, cypress (oh, to be!)
I am fat in blossom. I am sweaty and churned from cold, heat, and spring. I am hard and barked.
What I know is what I see. I see like the stretching of a Hand. I can feel Them walking from miles away, picnicking for a day. I feel times back They have never been; my breath, an ocean. These washes are east of me.
The wind, the wind. She is my neglect sent rummaging for roots. I have never lost. I will never lose. She is that guest I am always most awesomely in fear of seeing. She knocks and loots. Branches fall--embarrassment. Because I do not know my time, I do not know who accuses me, who whispers solemn breath. But, loud and wide, such clarity in Sky.
Oh! Solemnity! Welcome to being a tree! We do not shop, we do not sport, we do not bake, we do not style. I drop my branches low for seasonal ebb and flow and smile.
Part 2
The Blooms
The Blooms
What kind of overgrown earth tells even one of us to green? Which massive silly fern knows the kind of blooming we're in? Who knows the noon when leaves start falling? Speak up and rustle. You shake like an idiot, and the wind is still climbing. You must have caught all the hawks and the owls in their howling. Surely, you log, like mossed rocks, you feel iron; surely, the mining; surely, the jawing, the inching deep into your linings. You fall like an idiot, and the smell of burnt lumber is rising. The toothy metal disc mixes sooth, oil, and writhing; releases noxious toasty charring. Your innards have no sound and your rings are all but charming. But do, tell us, "Bloom! Grow your pine, you've no time to be inspired!" Shut up, distant thief. You cannot have the blooms we are finding. Older leaves are falling. The wind is gracious in its rising.
Part 3
hickory, burger
oak, burn
cypress, hill
cherry blossom, tattoo
dogwood, meadow
weeping willow, frog
pecan, home
pine, forest
evergreen, snow
fur, christmas
aspen, needles
maple, guitar
birch, simon
mahogany, money
cherry, truth
basswood, architect
walnut, walrus
Part 4
tree tree tree tree tree tree grey tree tree
tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree
tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree tree
Dripping
sludgy gunk,
gear
bagel
flat
black-toasted
video
crescent man,
sorry or splaying:
"listen, I don't have the right answers"
staring at the wood room,
spooked by airy headroom
roll pursed lips roll
secret oil
enunciate freely
Tuesday, March 1, 2016
Pickles
hey maddening hand,
love could be a quotation,
love in this derision,
pickles in this sandwich,
pickles' greenness,
cut out the spice
thrill-high, uni-dart
cutthroat
mister, my
miss impresario
shattered
half a glass
of fucky reunion,
of tangled retrace
of spoiled tomatoes
of my most
rotten
hesitance
Daffodil
all I can't do is think about you, dear
bird linings,
my shores mis-nix
a hurdle, and I am done
with you
forever with you.
my shoes and pants
in step, un-lining,
lie and soft,
a game
'round the rose,
this mega-mirepoix
fail upon
the daffodil
back with fruit
and bitter stamen
Monday, February 29, 2016
This Sphere of a Thing
this sphere of a thing. the sphere
doesn't move. the parts that are
its edges, the wane, the waxing,
inconclusive, the dog on some patio
then gone, then a jaw
pain, reimbursement, all sorted
measures
measures
measures
this sphere of a thing.
this sphere of a thing. time that comes rushing
as a bee. to raspberry.
this sphere of a thing.
this sphere of a thing. I'm all
but collapsing. it's a worm-like foggy
interlude who banks, near nude,
this sphere of a thing.
this sphere of a thing. a black line
pasted, because it was cut, onto.
that's what I see but shouldn't.
me on one
side of the meadow,
me and langue
remote.
I'm teen. rosy
I'm teen. rosy
immaturity, rosy shake.
rosy imbalance
rosy mistake
slow
this sphere of a thing. above mine,
if I close my eyes.
ha! a cat wilder.
ha! one eye. Creeley
for reals, those squirrels, those dives,
languid, sordid, inadequate rhymes
ferocity
up cheer, excellence,
bye,
holler exceptional, holler crime, sun-lick face,
new york times, unfamiliar passages, unfamiliar
lines
fire on wall
fire on wall
unfamiliar fire,
fire this tall
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
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