The grove of mixed oaks inches slowly closer
to one another, even over the hungry years,
nature’s reminder that even atrophy
has its narrow place, makes a bed
rich with potential. Underneath, decay-
ing:
the leaves,
a fertile
some
thing.
It looms.
It loams.
It loads the soil with what the trees need,
their canopies fruiting over and over.
Keep track of pockets
of perspective
throughout the day–
time you’re awake
while awake.
I wanna make good messages,
so I don’t.
In my head I write pages
folks might like to see, but won’t.
So I don’t
try correspondence
folks might like to see (but won’t).
I might be 50% full of despondence.
Try correspondence:
once upon a time I relished letters,
I might be 50% full of despondence,
diminished health produces heavy fetters.
Once upon a time I relished letters,
in my head I write pages.
Diminished health produces heavy fetters,
I wanna make good messages.
I have heard there are little
girls who do not cry
themselves
awake
Girls who walk in bliss
at night
alone
moonshined
girls aglow
I have heard there are girls
who dance across
horizons and
beneath
sunsets
Heard they pulsate
as both birth and
evolution
of
time
I have heard there are girls
who right now know
they are
more
than
The origin stories written
told and sold
by mere
mortal
men
Nightly phone calls grew into lists
of small gratitudes found each day.
Six years of thoughts exchanged as gifts.
Nightly phone calls grew into lists
of meals, music, naps, or sleep missed–
Dad needed to know I was okay.
Nightly phone calls grew into lists
of small gratitudes found each day.
my father said
that he enjoyed looking
at a full day’s work
from his truck
covered
in grit and sweat
smelling
of beer and cigarettes
when he died
his eyes were closed
surrounded
by the meager fruits
of his labor
I wonder
was it worth it
When you come home
From a long day
In the summer sun
Rosey cheeks, freckles aglow
Red curls falling from your hat
Welcoming you back home
Each evening with a kiss
Is like a gift I can’t wait
To open every single day
Reminded of a time
When I wished and prayed for
Everything we have right now
It beats any scratch-off
I ever won on!
I had a dream that I was metaphorically / made of glass and I shattered
fragile shards transparent / flaked apart in the dirt, pieces of soul reduced
to the caution signs that were not in place / yet would have made more sense to be
sometimes, not all revolving moments, I wonder / if there exists
a known or named sentiment for the phenomenon / in which what was feels too unpoetic
for the realism of occurrence / when what was not is too numinous to be unreal
the unchosen, broken chances may bite but the stories / too close to truth, may they thrive
in the minds of the unchosen / or the unchoosers who strode too confidently away
from the perception of the idea of what could have been / becoming more than speculation
did it hurt? / when the moon rose at the same time as the sun
and the music rang out from a corner away / yet you were separated by distance abundant
two feet on which to walk, two arms with which to write barely enough / to capture
this planet’s next near miss / never minding you wished to have been torn by the proposition?
Eve bit the apple and the juices
dripped from Her
lips.
and god told Her
to wipe the juice dry
and forget the taste of the sweet
flesh.
but Eve ached for it.
She begged and cried out for it,
lustfully,
hungrily.
and so, god, in all his misery,
damned Her daughters,
whoever dared to eat the fruit, to taste
nothing.
not sour, nor bitter,
for even that would give Her some understanding,
some distaste or disgust or
preference.
no, She is forbidden the knowledge of even
its opposite, as that grants her a guess
at the truth.
and, of course, god did not damn every daughter.
if none knew of its sweetness,
the Others would not know to want.
She could not struggle to understand,
She could not hunger, nor lust,
the way Her Mother did.
many will know its sweetness,
will lap the juices like a
dog in the hot sun,
greedily,
selfishly.
and they will call out to an Other,
“have you tasted this apple? my, has
there ever been anything so
sweet?”
damned, the Other will swallow
and taste nothing
and She will call back
“I’ve never tasted anything like it,”
for She cannot speak of her thirst
and She can never
quench it.
