Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Shortsale, five lots, near the river, six years untended

Upside down your tendrils floop
out like hair in water
[i learn to give a dog a bath.
what a to-doo]

Plants abide by gravity's guidance?
Kiwis scale three-story walnut trees
ivy vines as thick as wrists clog
the old nutmaker

We talk to someone with a machine
so powerful you need a license
that can clear a swath through blackberry two story tall
canes like fists, only bunnies roam wild here

Are we the interlopers in this jungle?
He says as he enters the dense undergrowth:
"I hear CCR in the background starting up."

I think, in the wet, one thousand rotting kiwi ferment,
in the deep green shade below the choked magnolia, the
feral berry hoving up to celestial height:
Where will the bunnies go?

I hope, though we appear,
wield our machetes, we are
not destroyers\not-destroyers.

Sometimes, the-great-unmaking
must precede

1 comment:

  1. I so feel that hesitance. And am thankful for poeming about it as I think the lazy monkey mind often trains itself to stop paying attention to the tentative balance between sacrifice and future intentions. (A lot of "tent"s in this comment)

    "the old nutmaker"

    "someone with a machine
    so powerful you need a license"

    "two story tall" (like the sound of this)