WOOD GRAIN

moths winged in gold

in the room facing east

with the curtains in gold

and the ceiling was closer

crabapple tree cut down  now

and the floor was wood moving

half the tree is underground

spreading like your veins

your eyes spread the water – tree veined fire

hands aging and reaching and working and holding

my eyes pressed from the world very world

jasmine on my palms sticking on the atm

power-lines powerless and other nameless flowers

growing feather leaves

on the bird dead in the driveway insides open bare

nickel wires

blue hair feathers our teeth grow like hair but slower

skin soft scales for touching

another gift from reptiles – the inner ear bones from their jaw bones

touching and listening

my lover's hair is from the moon his skin is from the sun (his eyes are from inside me)

the sun is in Corona, lemon pulp and dead gold, and we want it clear

not diffused into white, the sun's awful white

we crave it when it's too everywhere

wood grain in the island bar full of white people

the ceiling low

the mushrooms inside us wanted the wood grain

black winter tree just to bud the next day reached slow for the moon

the moon looked down at the water

and all us things made from the water

back when the moon was closer and we were all water

lifting the moon was closer and spinning faster

we crave the moon the water the woodgrain

we tore the brown paper bag

rough and rubbed it into leather

we craved the strange in weather

in the straight sky blind back

strange cancer strikes up mold

even molds can't contain bulbs and breaks and pink livers

and even mold can't breath under bleach rain

all the flecks one duty moan dirty flecks

the city and the cuntree tree

bladder bleeds electronics hard drone stagger

bleating like a ghost

bleeding like a goat

hold the cup liver bang houses

band houses to the Erie

the sun was awful

the sun was diffused and made our arms cold

(we shut it out we craved it)

on a white planet wet and awful

legs like trees like legs like wings (moths golden moths in gold)

the world is alive

for who knows what

magic is real

running around like beetles like ants come in

gra saoirse gra

like windows like nettles like pods come in

we shut our eyes as we craved it

we crave it waves in the wood

Cara Benda Bertumbuh

Cara Bertumbuh

Bertumbuh

waves – green wood – straight sky (we wanted it)