death is a song we sing to the young
so that they too will fear dying
the dead fear youth
youth are blessed
in that death
has its hands full
with the writers, singers, and carpetbaggers
who distill the bliss that’s blessed at birth
it’s a flat circle
i’m borrowing time
one day i will need to learn to sing
so some young soul hears the call
will be my lover
i just hope she brings a mint
Some associate a faded mint
with either the speckled mint chocolate
chip ice cream from their nearest shop
or the chipped colors on her fingernails
that were the perfect spring shade.
Personally, I recall the sign
at the café down the street
from my cramped two bedroom
apartment that the three of us shared
after they separated,
soaked with nostalgia and resentment
and appreciation for the new home
I share with our new addition
in a much nicer city
where all the houses are beige
cookie cutter resemblances,
but I can take refuge in my car
for the night and not fear
what lies outside the frosted window.
April 14, 2014 8:54:27 PM
They never befriend the storms nor the beachs, with water.
Only the daisy radiates as a azure flower.
When do picnics become rainbows?
Though it's now more sweet and less clear.
Ha! July, the ephemeral lightning.
Only the cloud wanders as a sunny mint julep.
To reveal, we picked. To see, we gave.
some connections can't be adequately explained
freezing wind and gilded ceilings, mousy brown roots
on bubblegum hair
keeping a scarf in place is too hard, and staying inside is too easy
(the bottom has cobblestones)
why is there is only such thing as effortless
when the air is cold enough to burn?
(the best veins are beneath the lids of my eyes)
if footsteps don't echo there's neither point nor interest
menthol, sorbitol, glycerin, xanthan
I exhale mint when I breathe in the world.