a simple thing complicated by thinking

–

–

scraggly grass is curiously clipped

uniformly by an unwieldy

and aggressive machine.

the scent of gasoline melds with that of tree pollen

and the internal fluids of innumerable

bifurcated herbaceous dicotyledons.

wending its way through that melange

is the aromatic certainty

of rain-clouds drawing near.

–

it is the first mass torture of spring.

–

i grin impishly at the dirt

between the green, severed blades.

do your work, soil

i say.

–

i laugh, walk away

and slay my evil minion

by throwing a dead, vulgar tarpaulin

over the top of the hulking beast.

–

i congratulate myself

for a job well done —

(a ridiculous job that offends

my neo-tribal philosophy,

but this ain’t grad school

and my philosophizing is sporadic

and incoherent at best)

–

so,

the trouble, i suppose,

is simply some vague fear

of incurring a fine from the city

for allowing grass to be grass.

–

the deeper reason, though,

for this botanical violence

is the bloom of happiness

i see upon her face

as i brush the dirt from my hands

and the first drops fall upon our skulls.

–

–

GJK

11MAY17

–

–

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an argument for simplicity

 

—

the foundation is set and the roots

are well established, the stems

are thin but healthy and the petals

are all purple yellow white black

and blue. the fire in the back

burns orange-red and hotter

toward blue-white and then

green, where it all began

for me, day-dreaming on the grass

in the yard between the house

and the shed. the smell

of manure from the barn

was muted by the hay-fever

afflicting my nose and throat

and all i could see was blue

and whitish-gray streaks

in the floor of my childish visions

where up was down and left was right

and everything depended on

mom and dad selling their livestock

and cash-crops and to me

happiness was the smell of October

because most of the corn was in

and the coming winter meant

nothing more than more cookies

fresh from the oven

because momma had more time

to bake, just for fun,

just for the sake of feeding her kids

something sweet because spring

and summer had been nothing but

toiling in fields and shoveling shit.

—

here, and now,

my love and i

have a few plants

of our own.

we have learned

to bake our own cookies

and make our own almost anything,

and there are six fresh tomatoes

ready to be plucked from the vine.

　

—　

GJK

9AUG10

the moth

 

the moth on the shower curtain

the cigarette butt snuffed out

in the shallow ashtray by the red rock

found six years ago on the shoulder of county road B

the incense that smolders beside the sink

the cold coffee in the stained cup bought three years ago

at the thrift store off of roosevelt road

the strands of hair that cling to the basin

the eyelashes stuck to the soap

the sloughed-off skin

the dust

the crumbs

the grit

that peppers the floor

the shit in the toilet

the towel slumped against the tub

the reflection of the faucet in the mirror

the flower petals on the shelf that were picked

from the front yard four days ago

the candle in the jar

the penny that sits beside the stone that was taken

from the shore of lake superior a lifetime ago

these things, tonight, are a song.

　

GJK

8JUL10