There was this vulgar man
With broken larynx
And I reset
His cartilage
Of wrists
That shot down
Nodulations of Vulgarities
And therefore they don’t exist anymore;
And that was the first day I ever shook his hand
At 11 years old
And somehow
I was made his chiropractor
And astounded
When I was crowned
Empress Elephant
Of some crowd
Watching on their personal times.
Mentor -in-brief check-ins
Never scared me.
I’m a matriarch
Raised by
Nations of Men
And somehow
Even Sally Boys
Agreed;
She should Lead.
It’s something different, that
At least,
Is what I can guarantee.
Who needs mundanity complaints
When I said you’ll hear me in mono
And I’ll play you monotone;
Just so you know what it’s like
To Wander
In a
Singular Room.
Above dirt
Or carved out of stone.
Grass Pads provide Nice Pillows.
“She would’ve changed the game of —
: because creature comforts are necessity and obsolete truths are degenerative to the collective conscious of a society.’ “”
And suddenly the package handler got their package
Bought.
I’m still broke because of it,
But! At least the food has been better,
And the veggies shine a little brighter
Last year’s tomatoes taste
Sardinian
And there’s many cans of tuna.
I still make my own art,
I hope he reads it for his own instead of reading it to me so I can read it out
Like Him
And Who he taught to read,
Best Friends always seem like
Universal, Time-Resistance Solidarity.
So in there,
‘ I guess I could wash out the peas in this trench and pick up some minerals that won’t make me sick along the way.
And now everywhere I’ve carved,
Is casqued
In-concrete
Not for Memorial;
For Permanence.
petrichor - archive 