Posts for June 10, 2025 (page 4)

Beneath an apple tree, a summer’s worth of rotten fruit
returns to the earth, brown skins splitting, spilling
soft flesh for the ground to feast upon, for thirsty roots
to claim, swilling acres of sun-baked broth, tangy
and sweet, while a single worm—thread of pale
electric blue—burrows deep into the last scarlet orb
to fall, writhing its way to the core,
and pushes aside the seeds before
setting to work: Churning through the refuge
on a blind gut, and swallowing each helping
as one does hope—as if a body can hold
any number of seasons.  

I saw my shoulders drop
When your taillights faded
Around the bend, and then
It was all green.

The cicadas were screaming. 
Their cries matched my mine —
A deafening numb, and then
It was all black. 

I woke in the afternoon,
Sweaty and disoriented, 
With sand in my lungs, and then
It was all over. 

Still all I see is you. 
Everywhere, in every thing.
How do I reason with shadows
When there are so many of them
And only one of me?

Nostalgic relapse in 32-bit
pixel art and grainy soundtracks
dearly remembered.

Remap the keys for my fingers
filled with more shakes and age.
Run quickly through stages

but linger on screenshots
I didn’t understand back then.
Realize themes. Recall morals.

I was less patient back then
when pillows were booster seats
and I didn’t know my name.

(after Donald Justice)

avoid the damn mirror
it doesn’t mean a thing
there’s really no wrinkles in it
or blood shot eyes
or missing teeth
or sunken chest 
or a million moles
or hairy ears that look like howling wolf
but really you can’t avoid it 
for isn’t it suppose to be the essence 
of the singular fact of your existence
and give you back exactly who you are
 
exactly

this one starts at the floor
and rises five and a half feet
curiously congruent
with the subject at hand
why is it here      
and for how long,
and for how much longer
will it tell its lies

it claims that if you stay perfectly still
and stare at its surface
some inner truth will be revealed
maybe the size of the heart
or even a hint of the soul
or maybe a glimpse
of a seven year old boy
inside a seventy-seven year old body

but that quickly melts into
slouching shoulders in a baggy sweater
a frank unflattering look,
you cannot forgive the damn thing
or laugh at it, though you’ve tried,
or ignore its daily terror
your only hope is for a graceful truce
until you are no more

“why are you kissing me with your mouth open?”
you ask, bewildered, staring down at my slobbering
parted lips after it met yours.

well, my love, what if i just want to
eat you up and swallow you whole?
it’s not my fault there is so much love to kiss!
my closed lips are too small to feel all of yours!
why don’t you stop being so damn kissable, huh?
ever think about that?!

…just kidding, please don’t be less kissable.
(though i don’t think you could if you tried)
i just really like how soft and lovely your kisses feel.
(stop looking so cute with your affection)

oh well.
what can i say,
i am a maximizer.

mwah.

Shadows dance across
The landscape of our lives
Before the sun sets

Babe? Are you manic?
That’s a lot of money, and
you don’t even play. 

Hands smelling of Windex
I was using to clean caked plexiglass. 

We only clean when company comes,
some bigwig with hawk’s eyes ready

to see what’s been left.  My arm
going numb from the effort, reaching

above my head.  They pay me really well
coming in on a Sunday, a pittance

next to what they’d pay a cleaning service.
The grease gets into everything

so they break out the industrial-strength
to combat it.  Rubber gloves handed out

to keep the new stuff off your skin.
Spray and wipe, spray and wipe,

a little at a time, pulling up years
of filth, resulting in a streak-free shine

that will, despite my best efforts,
be gone by next week.

It’s not until you’re older
that you realize
the insideous intent of
a handsy grandpa,
a winking uncle,
a friend of a friend
who smiles at you
a certain way,
and the dangers that lie
behind closed doors.

we skip alleys nearby stadiums;
(we don’t even go to baseball.)
we do not enter the arena;
(we are not here to watch fighting.)
we find a $5 parking lot,
drive past the real live human
attendant.
He yells,
doing his job.
(we don’t feel good.

it passes.)