TRUTH Vigilante: Ew, Icky. How Gross?

Wean

On your dark shelves
canned pears blacken

in your attic spaces
dusty boxes of her favorite Christmas decorations

brown-wet, shriveling in your garden
outer reaches suffocate the heirlooms
rooting ‘neath trees and roots dormant
until fresh invigoration of less acidic soil seeps
a decaying memory of a once prolific plant,
spoiling vision of all others’ daring, like
your toddler darling so promising
before unruly shoved and crawled, sprawled
across your perfect carpet.

Snipped and pruned, treated rude, recoiled
from perceived hate, your retracted love.

What was I? Five when I discovered you doted over that freckled brat more.
The incense consumer who burned through hemp and tobacco
before lost because he sucked at that teat until weaned and succor no more.


3.3.23
3.28.23

still…what was aim?

A book is coming…I keep telling myself…as all kinds of arbitrary deadlines near & pass…like blaring traffic. So, there’s that.


A book is coming…I keep telling myself…as all kinds of arbitrary deadlines near & pass…like blaring traffic. So, there’s that.