#grapevine
Cicadas gather on the grapevine,
a mass of wings and vibrating abdomens.
Males call out to females
but it is the grey squirrels who answer,
chattering loudly as they feast on insect flesh.
I sip cold wine and tap my fingers
on thin glass, watching and waiting.
My phone buzzes next to me;
you, calling, again.
I ignore it and turn my gaze back to the feast.
Jan 5, 2021
Jan 5, 2021 at 8:08 PM UTC
Afraid to sleep,
we keep on working.
Afraid to sleep,
We meet the dawn
from either end.
When light comes,
its continuity calms us
and ancestors watch over us,
as we sleep in fits and starts.
Outside the kitchen door,
Señor Romero's own grapevine
says: "Buenos dias!", says
"Gracias a la vida!"
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 7:31 PM UTC
I was told that he-
Yes, but were you told by him?
I heard that she-
Yes, but did you hear from her?
I know that you-
Yes, but do you know me?
My stomach churns to sour froth
when people know because they hear.
If you allow distant whispers to define knowledge
then your truth is ridden and diseased.
Such wounds fester, rotting in the filth of lies.
Stop feeding these ****** vines.
They are barbed and poison and coiling.
Constrictors of death: and they will absolutely consume you
squeezing until your pathetic, bitter brains
ooze liquid from your shattered skull.
If you are not a part of something, leave it be.
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 7:38 PM UTC