the sum of water and dirt and sun

i plucked this blossomed creature
from someone else's yard

i didn't ask permission
nor did i worry much, as
such things as flowers
seem an odd sort of property

maybe i should have asked the little tree
who worked so hard to gather water,
hold on to dirt, reach for the sun,
finally producing this plea
for a bird or a bee

but it found me instead
because i found you
and sometimes a flower
is a good way to remember
how much water and dirt and sun it took
before you became my bird or bee



wb

doctor's orders

gonna blow a giant bubble.
gonna put you in it.

deprive you of everything
but love and sleep and sex

until men with shelves in their heads
and nights without beds
are afar and frosted over
in dream sequence



wb

carbon admissions

do you see,
catapults, loaded,
needed to cradle the missing
among the rubble of erosion
to make room for:
mountain crumble,
wider river bank,
oceanic encroachment
over our elder's cartography
once honed in stone?

do you see it?
is it time
to shoot the moon
with dreams?
has it come to this already?
to what will the wolf croon
for his sheepish sins?
has it come to this already?

can't you see:
capulets, montagues,
we needed them to prune off spring
shorten the reach of generations
to empty rooms for
humbled kings
crowning heartache
like the freezing of lakes
leaking boudaries
of once royal blues?

do you see it?
is it time to shoot the moon
or scream?
has it come to this already?
to whom do we look at noon
when salvation missed us this mornin'?
has it come to this already?




wb

materfamilias

i'm sorry
i'm affected by sunlight
and temperature change.

you will define
but never understand me.

i'm sorry
i mourn
the toothless nights.

where light cannot bite
the flesh back to life.

i'm sorry
the drought
outweighs my eighty percent.

and there are other things too,
so many other things.




wb

haiku

these empty spaces:
revolver's guts stuffed with blanks:
louder puffs of smoke




wb