the cosmic farmer plants a seed
a small black hole in every sun
some will sprout in that plasma
we plant a seed of darkness too
in every beating human heart
no coincidence that blood is hot
floating and leaving no trace
the cosmic farmer plants a seed
a small black hole in every sun
some will sprout in that plasma
we plant a seed of darkness too
in every beating human heart
no coincidence that blood is hot
click click
nintendo switch
no time for haiku
he wandered for a year
among corpses and deserted buildings
one morning everyone had gone mad
and each body he found was
riddled with bullets
every cartridge emptied, every magazine spent
he hoped that, now,
since he really was the last man on earth
if he could find a woman,
he might finally get some action
but that seemed less likely
with each new sunset
animals avoided him
he thought, not out of fear
but out of some kind of pity
the supermarkets were still stocked
even though the fresh food had rotted
cans and boxes were plentiful
the food had expiration dates
years in advance
cereal bars and beef jerky
he never spotted another person
man or woman
and after a while
he stopped talking even to himself
he knew he’d never be able to bury the dead
not all of them
not even all of the ones
in his small hometown
guns were as plentiful as cans
of tuna and jars of peanut butter
but there wasn’t a single bullet left
across your lifeline
a paper cut is
insignificant
until it becomes
septic
and then it
may as well be a
bullet fired by
a marksman under
ideal conditions
he’s taken the wind into account
as well as your stride
focus on the pain originating in your molar
floating heavenward like an angel
made of nerves wrapped around broken stained glass
up through your hard palate
lodging between your ear and jaw
wonder for ten seconds if it’s cancer or an abscess
then opt for tmj because you’re tired and you
need to sleep
this is a memento that death leaves in your crib
to remind you every single day that you are not
in fact, going to live forever
or maybe he colluded with the tooth fairy
when you lost your first tooth
touched that soft bloody spot
in your gums
you obsessively kept
your children’s teeth
even the dog’s
——
taking up pen, preparing a page
sober, serious–really quite sage–
i wrestled a wriggle
a jiggly smudge–no more than a giggle
struggling to make it behave
ultimately, i was the slave
discovering, to my chagrin
taming a word is a terrible sin
——
storing oxygen
in a pair of secondary organs
while swimming through my blood
it pulled itself forward on flippers
rough-hewn legs too slow
to evade an apex predator
but then
it broke through my skin
and had the new world to itself
i am less an open book to you
than a blank page
you write on me with your fingers
your words sink into my skin
like your teeth
and i am tattooed by your multicolor voice
you do not erase
only write over the soft, pink scars
replacing old
with new
the touch of your fingertips
like a singing water glass
i long for the bees
tending to my peach tree
nascent blossoms
little new in the news
(little love lost between late lovers)
i thought i was a cynic
defined once as a failed, frustrated romantic
but
that’s a digression
that’s a depression
that’s a diversion
everyone wants to be
a snowflake these days
perfect
unique
fragile
as ephemeral as a cherry blossom
and so so cold
so cold you can’t expect
any warmth
just a glint of light
reflected and refracted
an impermanent diamond
no one is a snowflake
you’re all just raindrops
and you’re not even making
me wet
do i contradict your worldview?
very well then, i contradict it
what we have here is a (failure)
to communicate
but it’s only because my mirror
has darkened and cracked
on a different xy coordinate
than your own one dimensional glass
——