For many years I waded through waist-high grass
Balancing this wide, empty pail on my head
Waiting patiently, for the
Sparse clouds to buffoon above me at last
Sprinkling their swollen dread
And holding my arms straight out
To irrigate the prairie.
Thousands of unturned acres
drank up my tendency to the land
from the resovoirs residing
within me like open hands.
I remember six annual cycles
of lonesome, diligent drought
when the heat of god's light
dried even my memories out.
This August arrived inconspicuously
as a thicket of stormy pillows
roared deeply into the scene
From just the apex of the peeling cliffs
Signaling that they could see.
And they rolled towards me.
The closer they got,
The smaller we seemed
as the fields gazed together
at what felt like a dream
Then, far too late,
I realized with dismay
That I could not hold so much
Not in this form; not all in one day
I'd have to dig wells into the earth
Just to taste for acidity
And without any support
I'd need to track our own fecundity
Because some grounds would be
Too thick with clay:
The gift would be pointless
If I just let it drain away.
So as the storm roared onto us,
I recited the prayer of healing
And coughed out that blissful laugh
As my body lost all its feeling,
boring into the ground,
spreading a hundred hectares
the widest I could manage
while my pace was hastened:
A young crater for new life.
Your great wasted basin.
i write poems when im lonely
because they remind me
of what i am
i walk into the street at night
in nothing but my ******
to greet my friend
i play stories in my head that i remember
of the people and places
which i'll never see again
i stand like a tree and gaze into the mirror
relaxing my breath
and holding my hands
i stay up late worrying for myself:
what will happen to me once
i wish i didnt love my family or my cat:
could i ever be happy
and alone in my bed?
the clouds are not
something you can bully into a corner.
even though they appear
to flee from nothing
without cause or meaning,
they are huge coins
bellowed beneath space
for earth's ***** organs
so precious and volatile
that even the breath of machines seem
as i become lost under the eye of light,
i realize i can no longer distinguish my need
to track you
from your desire to be pet.
before we can blink
the earth has already spun into silk.
we hurl along through time and space,
stuck on the end of a stringed cat toy
as she swirls
magnificent clouds around her head
propelled in her rotation
and strung along endlessly
by the very bright beast
that has always been
these thoughts are torrential as a hurricane
and as cruel as a tornado
poking into monstrous existence
treating earth like a sandbox.
she calls through the roar.
You're in a classic trap.
That is only the quiet grasp of your mind,
the child of so much shouting,
recalling my story.
Your quiet mind, remembering
all at once
all the words which sounded
unwarranted or excessive.
Your quiet mind, leading you
to accept that it all was,
or could maybe have been,
necessary to say.
This is your acknowledgement of the jurassic times,
when diamonds and gold
still pierced my belly.
You must notice the dust settling
all around you for what seems to be the first
and final time:
just for today, when everything quakes
in a perfect rhythm.
Got down on the ground to feel around
Daydreamed of Dragon in their cloud
Roared silently before I was no longer allowed
Meditated with darkness to make them feel proud
Forgot my dreams, smoked some ****
Remembered something more important
Used chemistry to cook fresh fruit
Played Sudoku on the toilet
Skipped school just to stay home
Believed I hadnt learned nothin good yet
Moved to the shower as the ghost of the hour
Grabbed my tongue then wiped off the quiet
Obesity and malnourishment
from high tides of anxiety
Gargling on plastic-filled saline
trapped by ancient propriety
Stuffed into a submissive pit
deprived of real variety
Our vices clearly failing
while we ridicule sobriety
This hunger's for the birds
because we live in a society
but she depends on me for sustenance,
companionship, and release
like every other partner I've ever had
She can't go to my school with me
or walk around the lake with me
or handle a visit to the strange mountains.
She'd laugh if she knew
what little time I spend with the truth.
Today I spent hours
watching thick peels of clouds
raking shadows on one another
then I told my doctor exactly how I feel.
I know it's pathetic. I know
I like to sit here and complain about
how sore my hips are
and despair that suffering is pointless
no matter how old I am.
My nerves are alive, behind my teeth, in my tear ducts
I'm like a shivering rabbit ready to bolt
Staring with wide ears
For a sign of Danger, dressed in disguise
Whispering like a father
Angry love swelling:
"Lie down before you hurt yourself."
"Why did you try to lift so much?"
It replays all the stupid, lazy, selfish
**** I've done in the past 6 months
"So you're still ******* around on Hello Poetry?"
All attempts to justify my behavior fall short of conviction.
"I align my ethics with my actions!" ...when it's convenient.
(and, as I'm reminded, only amidst the most detailed instruction.)
Danger knows I almost sincerely believe it.
But we both know I'm a hypocrite
I would never have stopped eating animals
without all the vegans who have written their recipes down.
The militant voice would've kept saying "It's Impossible!
Proper humans don't limit their nutritional pool
and you're already shuffling half assed through work and school.
Think of something else to make you frown,
cut your losses and leave this large-small town.
Hold the door open for your friends
Then give them some misdirection.
You must be the first genius in the world to think of it:
Fearfully avoiding heartbreak by any means necessary
i love your versatility
you pair as charitably as a free agent
i want your bold bits and knobby
ends on my tongue mid-conversation
i like you soft or solidly
jealous green or dark hibernation
I admire your growth's autonomy
with capacity for toleration
i always cook it sloppily
blinded by the destination
i like to go for quantity
when i'm feeling most impatient
i know that it's an oddity
to get off on steamed inflation
i have considered that possibly
it's just about my own temptation
it's not worth the vagrant comedy
to divulge that hot equation
i'll cycle back to ecology
since i don't want medication
i can believe in botany
and your scents of motivation
i can't explain it audibly
just that it's instant gratification
i'm lucky that gastronomy
is so easy with your engagement
i think your critics are a monstrosity
to the spirit of entertainment
i don't think you need a recipe
you're good fuzzy, chunked or shaven
i'm a hungry wanton holly
firmly stalked in imagination