Tyler Meier once saved a fruit tree by hitching it to his entire house. — ZS
Something like the inside of a matchtip;
so that all recognition is out on blocks
in the yard, so that one might try to use a box of lake water
as a copy machine. There is a future
that presupposes hickory
as a birthright, and to have that idea
drop like a sack full of pig iron
into the deep end of your forehead.
There is a way of being
in the world that is the world,
a way of being
the fish scale that keeps the ocean
out of the fish, and to behave that way
A plural forming in the absence of light
The way an anchor looks, falling through a sink
Then a woman smashing her face in a fistful of flowers
A moth like an aspirin
A permanence swaddled in walnuts
Leaves going back up into the trees
After, a space between things
A collarbone swimming into a shoulder
Light forming like a forest of mistletoe
Then a plague of violets
If by metaphor, you make a thing
How the cardinal looked like a coin toss,
then cornfield after cornfield aching
in the want posture, in the horizon
we erase from. Tragedy
always begins in the doorway,
and still we insist on doors, she said.
There are times I follow the car
in front of me very closely
because I don’t want to be alone.
I can swear the word for this.
Minor note of highway, eyes
the color of a wheat field going under.
In one picture, the man is trying to put
the apocalypse on his body, or give you
the key to his heart.
This is an impossible man.
Who wants to play the apocalypse?
Who wants to be his heart?
The things you cut in half and end up with twice as much. One way I tell you that I love you is in future perfect metaphors. I wish you were a refillable coffee mug. I realized that in the hug position one never looks at the face of the person they are hugging, rather at the world the person you are holding just walked through to touch you. No response is appropriate for that distance. I wish you were a lobster pot. Out of frustration I made a bumper sticker that said I will kiss you with my Iscariot mouth. A little competition never hurt anybody. Soon, there weren’t enough bumpers in my life. The night that came was a deep flower, and the stars were bees. We sang the ancient song. Then the salt ignited.