Sunday, April 14, 2013

too bright to bludgeon (nasturtiums #2)

I want to Eat more of your Nasturtiums and comb my hair with your Dirty fingernails

sip Strong elixirs from your Small Cups Tipping swiftly into my mouth from yours
salt and Smoke Curling around your Spice

I’d like to Absorb your Smell into my Sweater and Scratch my nose in repeated Twists

Your mountain destroyed me My body humbled your Incline so greatly Breathtaking that I
Whoop when hiking your Trails

Ease never here Existed And if I was a Stronger woman
I’d lie Down

or return to an Appropriate stature of translucence
see, the Summit is Miles away and
I will forever be Made of Mist

many years
Creased between our Greasy fists

the Touch Camouflaged as Friendship or Crunched in between memories
At last
Too many others know my name

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Leafy Greens

I wonder if you get Lonely 
when Separated from your Twins 
twisted dark Compadres 
those Crunchy thick-skinned Kind of friends

you spend an Infancy in infinity 
Growing from within another Then 
we Pull out your chords to chew on some more fibrous parts 
when a Rumbling for earth Churns our girth 
Do your ghosts evaporate green and Purple too?

spirits who find Comfort in the Infusion with me 
other Plants don’t know of your Musky memories

Monday, April 1, 2013

to tongue a Spoonful

Vanilla Ice-Cream 
what makes the Cravings 
so repetitive 
you are not Exciting 
nor inherently Adventurous 
you can be, I guess, 
less ordinary 
when Swirled with

or dotted 
with peanuts

but you Pale 
alongside Strawberry or Caramel 
your frozen yogurt 
soy imitation 
brethren Chemically Nip 
behind my molars 
like diet-Soda So, 
you are Pure 
yes, you are 
what I’d call Original

you have 
no Kick or Spice 
the occasional Freckle Sane and Steady 
predictably spaced 
amongst other tiny 
Ground-up beans

what pulls me in 
when there’s Cayenne Blood Orange sherbet 
waiting in the freezer, 
what Sparks the desire to 
tongue a Spoonful of you 
when the presentation 

stubbornly Subdued 
your flavor too absent and

my Taste-buds 
in the wake of your 
imagined taste 
the most
unfulfilling Note 
you even Reek 
of something