Posts
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Garden of Ending
The domestication of the wolf into dogs is
comparable to the snatching of virulent
plants to make them minimalistic million-dollar
loft decor. Please, for the love of God, indulgent -
"I DON'T WANT TO END UP SIMPLY HAVING VISITED THIS WORLD"
"I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world" - "When Death Comes", Mary Oliver
My soul is still an empty basket in which I
still need to fill with the experiences in life I don’t -
Poetry in my everyday
My life is not nearly as poetic
as the nature of humanity.
However, if you weave the right words together,
anything can become poetry.
The life cycle represents how life is round
just as Keats once said. -
What the Fae's Do in Their Spare Time
Gather around rock circles in an unruly display.
Tussle with the cattails until the sky explodes with snowflakes.
Poke at the cryptic critters living beneath the sand of the lakes.
Guide the fish away from casted lines, just to mess -
Dying Women / Taxidermy Butterflies
We are like taxidermy butterflies
placed forcibly, neatly, in an oak display case
so we may be admired for our unique anatomy
rather than living free in fields of milkweed and daisy. -
What Everyone Said and What I Believe
Ever since I was a child I was reminded it was not my fault.
I was reminded it was not my fault and I would never believe it.
When my mother and father were set at each other throats
Loves
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Counting Flowers
I rang the doorbell to your heart,
and throughout your house it rang,
a bouquet of astilbes in one hand
and in the other a pink dove.
I carved it of cherry wood just for you,
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Perfect, Perfection, Perfectly
Perfect
I know I'll never reach
Perfection
No matter how hard I try
I can do better
I have to do better
I have planned out
The next 12 years
The college I'll go to
My grad school
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My Girlfriend
I feel her bracelet cold on my wrist
I taste the coffee bitter in my mouth
I smell her perfume drifting in the air
I see her standing over me, strong and beautiful
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shapes
circle: the roundedness of a
marshmallow spent too long in your pocket,
meant for my mouth; the almost-perfect
eternity
of your fingernail as you traced my collarbone
remarking how winglike our shoulders were;
