the angles not right...
i see moonlight drift off
the outer membrane,
the pink of it,
the place
where algae catches
in the corona
of your lost eye
remembering everything.
plays of the tongue
twirl off
the milky surface
of the skin.
god,
the cells of it
make their way
through time
& space
to green nowhere.
through the mud
& the endless happy
mulching,
i make my way
through a forest
souping itself
into a liquid bliss.
the leaves catch
in the undergrowth
of my inner birth.
in my palm
the sunflower murmurs on
in low whispers
that even birds can't hear.
there is something wrong
with this place.
each breath
brings no resolution.
i've seen you all
sprouting stalks
& snowflakes,
gnashing heather
with your teeth made of corn.
i plant you
beneath the oaks
to linger
through my words,
lost in the insects
that constantly eat me.
& i've managed,
somehow,
to have never seen
your leaves
before they brown. |
Submission Name: my father taught me to kill the sunflower
