all the thorny things

the two pairs of paper glasses printed
with red and white stripes and little blue stars
that i discover in the abandoned mouse-nest-ridden drawer
of a desk in the trailer which is soon to be disassembled
and when emory and i put them on,
everything is rainbows
and as he narrates how he sees eight of me
i can’t help but laugh at this eight year old sounding
like he’s on some psychedelics
 _______

the light petals veined with purple
of the wild violet flowers that i pluck from near the pond and the front of the main house
before i arrange them on slices of the dutch baby
in the cast iron skillet
_______

the snags that all the thorny thing sleave
in our clothes and on our skin
but am and i don’t care because we’re hunting
for empty freshwater mussel shells
along karma pond’s edge
_______
where my sangha at? darien calls out
in upstairs karma after returning home
From red earth
bet that’s the first time anyone
has ever said that
 he says
_______

putrid is the word i use for the smell
of the contents of the 55gallon grease trap
that trish and baigz drained and transported
down along the back road

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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