On All Sides Sharp and Impossible to Embrace
On all sides sharp and impossible to embrace
A pine cone is a precarious starting place
For life in this wilderness
Some only to a forest fire spill their love: You.
Seedling, you say they didn't prepare you
They forced you free
All of a sudden you knew their coil of darkness
Because they opened to the light
Drawn out by a curious fear
Only to see a burning world
You escaped as soon as you could
On the hot breath of the breeze, never looked back
They turned to ash and then earth
The same earth upon which you feed
It was a rough childhood, but you are far from it
You don't remember much now that you're a tree
But you find yourself sharp and impossible to embrace on all sides
And this is natural somehow
It is how you came to be
Menstrual Litany
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.-Billy Collins
You are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.
But you are bad magic in the belly
a ripe tomato crushed out of its skin
the sloppy morning mouth kiss
and a river stone worn to the size of a fist.
You are also not a beam in the roof
the grass gone to seed
a spoon in the silverware drawer
nor spider with the fly.
Nope. You are none of those things.
You are always a strange pop in the joints,
the wet fruit slice in saliva,
thunder with no flash of light,
and a shadow cast by a rolling ball.
But you are never a daisy behind the ear,
a stray balloon,
the of tinkling cuff-links,
nor snowflakes falling on a campfire.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way you are the pine-scented air.
Lake Travis
The sky was not blue but lavender.
My heart rose up with the water
floating on my back singing to you.
My eyes squint like a drunkard in your light.
But you never answer.
"Oh God, are you there anymore?
I was certain looking up. Now I'm not sure.
The sky seems empty like it'll never rain
and pain rattles inside dry as a bone,
yet I remain..."
.... nothing.
I wade in the shallows smiling
at my own sounds leaving.
Singing country style angry isn't enough for you.
That night I cried on my bed thinking
magic is dead.
I am never again to be winsome
thinking of invisible beauty.
Everything's ugly.
Only dirt and algae between the toes left.
Just minnows nibbling scabs off.
Droning motors boats going round
and round the same old shit
with assholes blaring top 40 hits
everyone's sick of exist.
God... ?
Are you the pause... between waves?
The wind? The space between scattered shells?
Do you hide in the water?
Are you on the other side of the penny or
at all with the clouds?
Which one of us is not lookin' for the other?
Do you notice me picking my bathing suit
out of my ass?
Can you feel me swallowing that fifth hot dog?
Why do I look for you as I flush my trimmed off pubes
down the toilet?
You don't care.
How could I expect you to answer?
Obviously, you were under rocks with the spiders
laughing your ass off the whole damn time.
Or something
And I just didn't find you out on the water.
Rest assured I'll find you
while you're busy not lookin'
at all at me lookin' for you
not lookin'.
You'll see.
