cows in a field with a cloudy sky above

Don’t Jump

cows in a field with a cloudy sky above

it’s a good thing you aren’t very happy
the cloud cover looks much too deep
for aiming to sail
over the moon
and land in one giant leap

unless melancholy makes jumping
around like a mad kangaroo
over a star or
around planet Mars
sound like a smart thing to do

You’ll Never Find Me

you’ll never find me

where everything makes sense

where the foliage gets dense

shaded all the time
from the microwaves and heat

you’ll snap twigs under your feet
and i’ll know to hide

or lunge to save the secret

in the petrichor and rot

where you’ll never find me

With Air

to stretch your arms out and spin

to breathe in and breathe back out again

what an absolute disaster to be stuck on the ground

with you, mostly

with the gasping, breathing, heaving

when there exists an up there,

with air

worth the gasping, breathing, heaving

white daisies with tiny black bugs crawling on them

I Hope Flowers Don’t Get Itchy

white daisies with tiny black bugs crawling on them

I hope flowers don’t get itchy
or get allergies to bees
I hope they just feel nice for weeks
and then
peacefully
transmogrify
into 100 other flowers
to have 1000 other weeks
to be generally comfortable
and never need to sneeze

Nook

Could I hide here? Just for a minute.

Until the rain quiets down. Until sun comes back. Until it gets a bit warmer. Until the ground dries. Until the coast is clear. Until I can breathe. Until it’s safe. Until I’m ready.

Or at least until you fall apart.

It’s A Storm

it’s a storm

it’s a storm

it’s a storm that we’re in

it’s a beautiful breeze and a terrible sneeze and a sweeping unknowing

and blowing

only for minutes and then you forget

there were storms

but it’s custom so they fuse into one

you can put into a bottle

and sell at a sum

to let it lose later

in moments and episodes

back rooms and bed forts

and under umbrellas

during a storm

Purple

Sometimes there is purple and then sometimes there are purples

and purples and purples and purples

and you can call them other things but they are still purples

Sometimes I think the sky can’t think of it’s own colors and steals them from the ground cover

from gutters and lovers and clovers

and only rarely are her colors not from others