"Newly Planted"
Lift the lever to see what's beyond the spine,
what is underneath, speak.
Finer print will leak upon this line.
When you do reach to lift old grit and sand,
rake new life with your rigid hands.
Slowly lights teach stones and earth alike,
busting beads eat the heat,
reaching for what they need.
Skewing surface,
learning purpose, peaking yet undefined.
Fresh direction in its possession,
pressing out inside.
"Exposure"
The apple bleeds for me to live,
feeling the separation of seed and sowing.
Every time I close my mouth, my teeth, my eyes
I open them on a cleansed frame.
You need bare feet to grasp the earths dirt,
I am starting to find fragile foundations.
The trees wave their hands like the little blades beneath them.
Black flies have been qualified a pest, but I'm not
so sure.
Aren't we the ones invading their space?
I seem to exist between the limbs
The trees communicate with body language,
they can be loud and constantly waking up with color.
What a day with the Sun!
It shown effortless over hips adding curves,
floating slurs matriculate into blue together,
too tethered, togethering.
“Call & Response”
The clouds fill with the sweat of the earth.
Extra. The surplus that will eventually return.
This bit, these portions, these pieces
all exist within themselves.
You can not yet change what makes you
up.
That is where the ascension begins.
Blending truth with dirts uncouth
in middle grounds we walk.
Through grey demise we seek the sky
to give us what we want.
Help yourself to our well,
learn to fly and fall.
The lakes we drink
lead to the brink
of shifting who we are.
"Tabled"
Sitting finished for a minute,
saturated before we begin.
Cables separated, ligaments consecrated.
Limiting exposures within enclosures,
empty rails reject the roads adjacent.
Fated fictions whip the bend,
faulty fingers can't seem to compromise,
while you try to
situate deep in separation.
Postured particulars
are ripe from extracted facts,
while fixtures fill the fortunate.
Then you sink further...
draining the weight.
“Incline to the House"
Dirty, no. Weathered, no…whipped.
The caught clay arrested between cement.
Soul warmed by the sun.
Soles warmed by the brick.
Chipped, hand-laid brick.
Toll to use Nana’s pool,
“5 weeds a piece.”
Ass up, knees locked.
Pop is a veteran,
both of war and picking weeds.
I get goosebumps from beginning winds.
The trees spread rumors,
deciduous secrets.
Black-eyed Susans wave to other floral denizens
as they greet me at the gate.
Squandering scents of dank, clean moss
over chlorinated notes
whip through my nostrils
and brush my pink skin.
Feeling small,
standing small,
being small.
No one has a bathing suit body.
Carpenter bees hum erratically
as they dip closer and farther from my face.
The moon seems to show himself too early.
Seeing stars in the day
makes afternoons feel alien.
