Tagged: the Earth

Maya

human animal awareness
peaks
at the edge
of physical boundary

such as
out of the woods
& into a clearing
or reverse of that

into greens
that when mixed together
appear black
some have thorns

so they all might
some are oily
& poisonous, so
they all might be

we appear on a hill
at the edge
of a cliff, below which
a river

beyond which
the stone shaved
clean
by wind

membranes of
cities, the towers
neck tied
& black of dress

the first doorway
opened
& the first pen

an absence
a finger slick with berries
the first wall a raft

possibly
a door
or

the green wall
of medicine &
fibrous material
fruits
& soft bedding

The Ancient Reptilians

every dinosaur book starts out
a long long time ago, or
before
there were buildings, cars

before the trees were gone (once
when they had never been)
before
the leaves were different

and as gluttonous drinkers of sun
they stood, broad faced and brachial
before
their necks. maybe we say instead

instead there were dinosaurs
very unlike cartoon dinosaurs, who
before
becoming huge and terrible

could fit in the palm of your hand
their woodpecker hearts bled in
before
receding, flooding again the plains

of their limbs to move. they’d tense in
vegetation, wary of their own feathers
before
in agitation, taking flight

this is before and during the
beginning of time
before
enough collective damage

had been done to call it the past
before there were roads
before
the whispering of animals into rooms 

of our dwelling. be it houses, clothes
as fire eats the air
before
air has had enough and shoos it

when at once it has always been
like the ground to a foot in a shoe
before
the biggest thing on Earth was God

The Exact Moment of Small Comfort

No one likes you or dislikes you
whatever that color is in the middle

a green, just inside
being closer to dying

the mean, the law of savages
the point at which your face

becomes caked in need of nothing
muddy camouflage, carefully applied

to whatever greenish-brown thing
happened to you, is still happening

something will get a good meal out of me
that’s why it’s not sad

The Earth & its Atmosphere

there must be a hole
for needing to be better
& hating yourself
through which
it leaves

we park somewhere
a trap
of green gasses
idling, a sun roof

the large holes
carried
in front of our bodies
like stealing art

the certain parts
of air that stick
before
being sent back

the false ones
the hopeful ones
the oxygen
the nitrogen

the courageous others
tagging along
swept up in it

we give each other
something good a little less
each time
here in the same place

but it’s still
some good

we finger the holes
in our hoodies
& in the atmosphere

we crack a window

we finger our mouths
through which words
emerge from
primordial
soupy throats

but where
before that? i struggle
sometimes

perspective… or
who was there
when it happened

a police officer?
a father?
a friend
who learns the world
by looking at you
looking at them

Why Some People Make It

I feel the weight
of a very large decision
left open to me, like
a container in the snow

I lie to a park ranger about
the temperature back home. 110 degrees!
You lie to an old lady about
how long we watched a flip-flop
flip in the glacial rapids, caught
in a whirlpool, not emerging. At least an hour!

Persistence, I point out. Arbitrarily
pointed persistence

Here, you say, passing me a stone
feel how smooth

Fish Gardens

those fish were caught by men
with their feet in water
those fish were caught by men
with their feet on land

in the middle, a couple of babies
pose for their wedding pictures
her dress is lumpy, leguminous
like it is actually cauliflower
his has a pocket for his phone

everything outside their body
is light. literal, actual light
light is decided upon in the brain
the brain is a folded leaf

this is can turn into anything
imagine we are fish swimming
in a man made water system
never have the edges to things
been more clear

Petrify

still caught up
in how we felt
about it earlier

the rarest stone
a person’s mind
being changed

I just planted seeds
in the garden. it is
snap pea, an easy seed

in a way I am checking
the earth’s pulse
I sit with it

having hope, but
waiting for it
I worry that thoughts

rarely occur
that aren’t hardening
the old ones

The Earth

I watch this kid
fold a world map tablecloth
around his body

and call himself The Earth
Like that is
his wrestling name

He plans to join
the downstreet kids
who have made a ring
out of old mattresses

Sheets tied together
someone’s actual mailbox
repurposed
as a turnbuckle. The other
turnbuckles

are city-issue trash cans
Kids are leaping
off them, yelling names
that they have chosen
for themselves. Soldier Man!
The Hurricane!
Robot Shark!

The Earth readies, and
hurdles down
Likely he’ll get pummeled
but that’s why
any of this happens. He
runs into the sun, laughing
the arctics tied
around his neck

I think about the times
or time I was a boy
How when a boy runs
(or fights, or loves)
he flares out his world
like a cape