cyaniding

how i balk at lunch
about the cult with the purple robes and nikes
who cyanided themselves to catch a ride
on the comet passing through
when darien tells us that some of them
also voluntarily castrated themselves
and how i go on to joke when i can
about cutting off my balls
which doesn’t necessarily sound very funny right nere/now
but we couldn’t stop laughing about it then
_______

seen from the forest path
down to the cedar room:
the smooth brown of shitakes bursting
out the bark of the logs tilted 
on their ends under the shade of the filling-in canopy

________

rachel katz and i joking about
the proverbial ball pit
and pink-iced doughnuts with sprinkles
awaiting her at a future startup job
should she choose to move out of the 
non-profit sector
_______
the hot water bottle i place next to mama cat
in the box on my porch that mama cat has taken up residence in
while the bone-deep wet cold
keeps wetting and colding out there
_______
the sound of rain dropletting on the roof played against
the sound of wood in the stove crackling into flame
plus the whooshes of wind moving through
_______

how, when i name the people i miss,
i also name bodies of water,
mountains,
rivers, 
sky views and
ocean vistas and 
ferns and forests
_______

the lone spring peeper
peeping
over near karma pond
through the wet and dark and cold
(which, it seems, will continue for days)

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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