but when white came, it looked thin and there was more to be said about otherwise; there was more to be said.

 

The starved concrete so hungry and the feet
shoes in shit rubber-soled conversation thick
stunted with growth and lack of oxygen: all the trees are dead

But a fat tulip but fat red sulking sun not ready to sleep
bruised lip sky and violence in violet. These chapped nights
cannot sleep and the gardens bloom are wrangled wild horses –
Hold a rose. Smell salt and water and say THESE ARE OCEANS
and then swim.

Grey is not but sand is soluble. Sand is collapsible horizons
is upside down on the beach, watching the waves
everything comes in waves everything comes in waves everything comes
In the back alley someone planted rows upon rows of flowers between the plastic
garbage bags and someone spray painted red tulips and someone spray painted grass
and someone called a whimpering thing a tree and it was a tree, redeemed
THIS IS REDEMPTION

And the concrete ran but was not solidified, fell apart while running
left old age gaping left with ribs clinging chunked heart
kicked into the street kicked into the rubble, they’ll build another

But red keeps beating but autumn is lively but the willows are planted
but the cattails in the park but the dogs eating plastic Frisbees still wagging
tails and sloppy grins. But oh yes there it goes oh yes

And it wasn’t summer and it wasn’t winter and it wasn’t spring
and there weren’t any pine trees and there weren’t any rocks worn smooth
and there wasn’t any storming of the wolves of the deers of the loons
But we drank beer on the balcony and counted airplanes, we counted
something instead of nothing and the tulips in the alley glowed
while streetlights gave shadows gave absence to garbage and this was redemption,
not everything starved, not everything ugly but there something there

Something was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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2 thoughts on “but when white came, it looked thin and there was more to be said about otherwise; there was more to be said.

  1. This was the best thing I’ve read in a while. it reminded me a bit of Gertrude Stein and Charles Bukowski, but then something I’ve never encountered. Stream of conscious with great rhythm and lines breaks…and just this comforting rocking essence. I am trying to find the words to.describe its effect on me but I am falling short.

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