Coming Home from the Farmers Market
For G and D
Carrying fresh blooms
I spot old friends long absent
Sweet bouquet of joy
For G and D
Carrying fresh blooms
I spot old friends long absent
Sweet bouquet of joy
A
boy
can
dream
every
fate,
get
help
if
jeers
kill
life’s
momentum.
Night’s
onanistic
promise:
queer
rhythms,
sleep,
those
unclean
visions.
Wait.
X-Acto
your
zit.
Reeling.
The big fish.
The one who got away.
An answered text from “Ishmael” on a melancholy day rekindled a dual need to be wanted and to patch holes in hearts.
A perfect wave for an empath to ride in upon.
Through our small porthole shone glimpses of light.
Chapters for bait to try to catch years of water under our bridge.
Minds and hearts fill in the gaps for the stories we long to hear, the stories we want to believe
But you caught the story before I told you.
And for a moment, even the wrong time stood still
To honor the memory of his dog,
who no longer trots through the house,
the pitcher wrote Dozer on the mound.
kiss me.
kiss me!
the frog says
oh by the warts on my spine it’s your only option!
it dramatically wails, the pond water has dried into a dewy glaze over the frog
no no no i’m a toad !
croaks the frog, interrupting my narrative
toad?
i say louder this time, questioning the authenticity of the frogs statement
i’m not a frog!
ribbits the… frog
ahhh! all you have to do is kiss me i say, to learn, yet you jest here judging the mortality of my patience. haha why instead you learn that my patience dried up when this muck did
the frog has the temperance of muck
i judge aloud
apologize to me, for this has been a gore-ish waste of time
the frog inconsiderately concludes. inconsiderate for apologizing would mean a gore-ish waste of time for ME
oh me oh my all you need is to kiss me to escape the confounds of the lords mind, yet you are still here!
i won’t kiss you damnit! frogs aren’t meant to be kissed
i am a toad!! not a frog, oh stink tail , toad!!
then “toad”,
i say with a bitter sludge to my tone
i guess i won’t be going anywhere for a long long while…
And I did. But that can’t make up for what I put you through.
The kindness in your heart says “But look at what I’m doing to you!
The writing I do on you, makes you a table
A table for my luxury, a shield
And with every flying bullet it’s another mark on you.
The very thing that helps you pass is holding you back.
I make you hate your own- I’m sorry, our, own voice.
Unfortunately when it came to being born
You didn’t have a choice
In who you could be.
You just were.
How can you say sorry to me
When in reality
It’s I who have done the most wrong?”
But I know you’re only covering because you don’t want me to take the blame,
Or live with the shame of all of that… lying
I wish I could take back the countless hours you spent frustrated
Staring at the clock,
Wondering if you were…crazy.
If I was a figment of your imagination
Pigmented from faulty wiring in your mind
If I was there, a guest at your mental party
Who showed up without an invitation.
Truth is, we were co-hosts of that party.
And as much as this letter is an apology, it’s coming out
All over again, it’s reclaiming now and reclaiming then.
It’s a statement addressing the fact that I
Was the reason you found out that while other’s blood
Is red, yours is purple, yellow, black and white.
The colors of a flag draped around your shoulders, and others’ too.
Our identity
Is like a disease to some.
I’m sorry for all of this pain
I know that progress is slow to gain
But remember that when you’ve been fighting for this long
You need to keep going. Never let anyone silence the song
That your heart has been singing all this time.
And…one last thing.
I’m sorry for making you think that coming out and opening the closet door was like opening Pandora’s box, that when you opened it,
There would be nothing good, nothing for you to use to cope…
Truth is, there was always something left…
And that’s hope.
and…
P.S. I never hated you.
From, your brain.
I have learned to stash
the inaugural light of the morning
between my pillow and my peace.
I like the animals we make of each other
We only snarl
and nip at
each other
sometimes
Mostly
We stay busy
With important work:
we forage
to feed our young
reinforce our nest
teach our babies to
hunt and fly
before they
take on the
world
It makes us slow
and tired, two
old dogs playing
gently with each other
or sighing
from our separate
spots on the
couch
I get restless
I want to be petted
I purr for you
send you heat
You let loose
the lion in you
to roar
on top of me
heavy and muscled
and panting
Sometimes we
coil ourselves
around each
other
for quiet
warmth
like snakes
Of all the animals we
can be
I love how human we are
the mistakes we make
and the new things
we build from the
wreckage
with our cunning,
our brave commitment,
our stubborn
steady
love
I sleep unclothed even in winter
except for an occasional tee shirt
if it’s extremely cold
and even that’s ripped off
once my body’s warm.
It prefers to feel unencumbered,
free.
I sit in my luxurious mansion, sipping on wine wanting more.
I know there are people that need things that I have, but I want it more.
I pass beggers,
I count my money,
I NEVER help the needy,
I am full of myself.
I watch people starve.
Other people try to help me, but it will never be good enough for me.
When I die I will die wealthy, but I will die unhappily because in the world I will have never done anything.
