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Tuesday, September 7, 2004
Weeds
I
we are weeds
growing in
the deep-rooted soil
of our own
II
the seeds scatter
the breath carries them away
white fluff
into the air
where they’ll land
i don’t know
III
the growth
the seed
all the need
we are weeds
IV
the sleek little stem,
the open warm flower
that root deep inside
green with envy
yellow like the sun
with petals like an open palm
leaves wrinkled, lined
the soil holds it
the roots are twisted and gnarled
this weed is ripened for the picking
will
you
give in?
V
wilting
time touches
fate hunches
down on shoulders
and knees
to admonish decay
VI
withering
slow death comes
the roots are giving away
thining out, loosening grip
winter the coldest bitch
coming like a frothy reaper
VII
weed out the good ones
get out the bad ones
numb them all away
temperature dropping,
temperament stopping,
heads falling into each other
lamenting away
the frost the cold
old, old, old
dismay
VIII
we are weeds
we die in seasons
we root deep inside
nothing to find
from the womb
to the tomb
ruin in time
IX
pick me
kiss me
pucker
sucker
touch
feel
know
together
forever
weeding in
rooting down
growing
photosynthesis
oxygen
carbon dioxide
lungs
pick the petals
one-by-one
she loves me
not
she loves me
she loves me
not
she loves me
take me
care
ripping off confines
the bars the chains
our bodies our names
forgetting
in the moment
escape
clothes come off
hands go
all this life
for nothing
for this moment
inside me
i can hear the baby moan now
another weed
flickering in the open sun
the wind gently stroking it around
it goes back and forth
in this desolate ground
this earth is a death ground
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