Posts for June 11, 2017 (page 3)

       I just bought some sunflower seeds
       Not to eat – To plant
       I love their great big yellow heads
       They try to smile, but can’t

       I’ll support them best I can
       When they begin to grow
       Fertilize them – give them space
       Till heads begin to show
 
       Then I’ll have to prop them up
       With brooms and chairs and ladders
       They’ll keep growing till their heads
       Become as large as platters

       Soon I’ll give them each a name
       Like Gus or Ben or Sal
       Then for all the summer months
       They’ll be my garden pals.
     

In Home Alone, 
Kevin tells Santa that he’s old 

enough to know how “it” works
before explaining “it” incorrectly.

Coincidence that he would rumple
into tabloid sepia mugshots like MJ,

whose house Macaulay slept at amongst
monkeys and glitter? What about the shapes

when I fold this money? A Rorschach of paranoia
flying out at you like hornets. 

It’s all just pro wrestling anyway.
The fixes are in, the faces are paid,

and you all go along feigning. 

Maybe time travelers are in our history books
Eva Braun, Gavrilo Princeps and Lee Harvey Oswald
These possibilities come to mind
because violent ends are the most interesting history

What if somebody did go back in time to kill Hitler
and the world got so much worse 
so they killed the person who killed Hitler
and we don’t know them
But you know,
Evil is evil.
So they found the exact moment for Hitler to die
and the world not go to total shit
Eva Braun killed Hitler then herself.
Also she was a time traveler 

Maybe Kennedy needed to die
and the gunman on the knoll missed his shot
Is it possible World History needs
two World Wars to go to space
End Imperialism
Give us the internet?

Who decides that 100 million people die
Who tallies how many more get to live
Is God a mad man with a box
that sends people to the past?

Is it done to create the best world?
Is this the best world?

Shit, what if it is

he speaks to me in citrus peel,

my eyes burn, my teeth grow weak-

but i can handle this.

there is an arm growing from within my stomach

it is reaching up through my throat to

control my tongue-

but i can handle this.

i keep having moments where i can’t

recognize any of my surroundings

i think i’ve missed my bus stop but

never actually have-

i can handle this.

if i could handle going blind and deaf,

i can handle misplacing a few colors.

i search for strength in my marrow

and find ether in my blood.

find humor in my burning flesh,

find light in my tissue,

find myself in the black.

I cannot find comment boxes
under posted poems, like
I recall three years ago–true
everything changes, but
it could be a faulty memory
(though I know there were no
emojis). So, how can I inform
lexpomo poets that their mango,
psychotropics, lies, sweet bay,
and etc., are, in truth, memorable?  
 

You held me up to see
A silver screen
Of what I couldn’t be.
The lines they gleamed
And it couldn’t be –
A portrayed portrait
Of what you thought of me
Your image altering reality ,
or At least My concrete blink
of what I think of me

During the day he lies
in blue-green grass
shifting under the weight
of heat and insect.
But twilight—
twilight is a hum of rock and moon—
in his eyes shadowy shards of planets
rise splintering bone and root
and casting blood about
in patterns of plenty.  

there’s pleasure to be found
in bare feet and plowed ground.
pleasure in planting myself
between the rows
with my hips set wife
and sinking into the garden
and fully expecting to get dirty.
i start to sweating,

saltwater trickling over the curves
and crevices of my body
to season the soil
and the green beans. 
i know how to handle a hoe

like a weapon.
wielding it against weeds
and copperheads alike.
snakes lose their heads
in my holler Eden. 

Being cynical, 
isnt brave, 
I know. 

every time you teach
your kid
with love
you give them a flower
for the garden
of their life

your kid grows
different
flowers on their
own 

accept your kid’s
gifts