Lucky little seed, I pick you. To bury in dirt and chicken poo. I cant wait to watch you grow. Underneath the light bulb glow. Little sapling poking out, Standing up so strong and stout. I’m so very proud of you. I’ll be back in a day or two. Oh my goodness how big and tall. It seems your pot has become too small. How would you like to go outside? Its dangerous so you’ll have to hide. The sunshine has been waiting for you. So just relax and do what you do. Hello little bush up to my knee. I still remember when you were a seed. I will be back in a month or so. But here is some water to help you grow. Holy shit! You’r taller than me. My little bush has become a tree. I guess you dont need me at all I will come back and see you this Fall. Hello darling, i brought my knife. It looks like you’ve had a wonderful life. I’ll give you a cremation fit for kings. I will celebrate your life with big smoke rings. Wrapped in nothing but the finest Zig-Zag. And the rest of your ass in a sandwich bag.
You are peeling me off like a crab. Time has sunk very low. For the hungry kids who was growing crab apples? Creating art, arriving between the pubes. A microfossil roosting within me. I could live without oxygen. Incandescent, the
From farthest East, or more precise The forests vast on India’s breast, Rose hymns of wisdom that never dies, The words of knowledge, forever best. Those hymns were born from wisest hearts, As throats would trill in sombre shades; They
In lunatic scape of fringed labellum the creeping malignancy was advancing. i missed a rendezvous with moon when you had brought a blue kiss from abducted lips; again I become a sisypus lifting the rock off your comets of round
Deep down thighs, unhoisted, what was there, harvesting the sperms? At dusk an inflorescence breaks into myriads of fireworks, wrecked apologia, interned unlikeness, insanity, kissing the goldenrod to start the flow of bare grief. I deserve no nobility, my moonscape
Crock-sockers, We ate ’em all Serve no good, Other than to chew the fat, To bake away the day Motivations like that should be cancelled, As most are being paid for productivity, Not only to wear khakis and a crooked
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2 Comments on "Green Thumb"
How we nurture our children, and then rob them of their innocence, yanking it away from them in a gut wrenching way.
This is ‘wicked’. A real killer poem – u’ve got it.Wonderful. Love the twist in the last lines