Filed under: Pensation | Tags: campfire, crickets, nature, splinters, sun, thistles, tree, underwear
I want to smell like a campfire…and taste like one, too
I want to crunchle the pestering old sand in my teeth
to be a stethoscope to God’s pulsing crickets beating
escape from florescent Folsom
and strip it down
strip down
I need splinters under my fingernails, and
bugbites on my knuckles
itching, snitching, scratching
delightfully impossible to appease
Ode to thistles in my underwear
Thou art far more comfortable than a stare
From people with pedantic poles up there
Could I please lick a tree?
Could it become a part of me?
If I eat a tree, could I maybe see
the view from up on top?
There’s a peek-a-boo of blue!
¡Achoo!
(I stared right at the sun)
I’m sweating, but nature makes chaffing fun.
My! My writing’s just begun…
But I can’t sit here for too much longer
‘ cause
even versus incandescent, I’m pretty sure the sun’s still stronger.
And I need stronger
need so much stronger
the need is so much stronger today in the air
than I ever noticed while stuffed in there.
I’d rather have a sliver in my eye-lid
Than the tinted Plexiglas windows – do you know what they did?
For years, they mulishly hid
My sun from me.
Out here I may burn, but at least I can be!
