my hands are becoming dark brown, rugged, scarred from use my mother tells me i'm going to look old too soon how strange it must be to her that i let my hands get this way from pleasure she who has never known skin to turn brown from anything but hard labor.
why do we throw nine seeds into the ground and prune away all but three which deign to sprout? who taught us to plant this way to waste life such disrespect for the energy it takes a seed to awaken for the millennia of evolution that went into it knowing how to come to life … Continue reading modern gardening
i knew they would do it i knew it couldn't last long the small savannah along the curb my passengers had to traverse to get into my car wild grasses grown waist-high persistent through the chill of winter today carnage yellowed stalks hacked away unevenly i wonder if they used poison or just went mad … Continue reading mourning for grass
no one wants to read poetry about sleeping during a long drive through winding mountain roads waking up to dawn breaking over snowcapped mountains far across arid lands making coffee on a dusty picnic table to warm freezing fingers gravelly roads that lead to piles of volcanic rocks spit up from long ago we grated … Continue reading how i began 28