To the Girl in the Back of the Room with the Dark Eyes and Warm Smile

You may think poems have never been writ about you,
That pen never met ink never met paper to do no justice to the radiance of you,
That you have never inspired a divine word from the altar of lips sacrificed on a tongue that could not help but be turned to you, sweet smelling syllogisms burning half as brilliant as you,
And you’d be wrong.

There are a hundred million punctuation points, the pauses in epics, in sonnets, in every cento every cobbled together piecemeal,
you are present in them,
You have been written into code in odes.


06/30 – Solomon


Nicolas Poussin’s “The Judgement of Solomon.”

Pray for a change in the way that the game is played and won,
but alas,
“There is nothing new under the sun.”
Serpent’s tongues still tempt forbidden fruit,
distort the truth, distract you with some other proof,
and unastute,
we drop hook, line, and sinker,
as unscrupulous demagogues push us to the brink of war,
humanity’s sores,
for all our achievements, how many’re for gore?

This abhorrent, warrantless debasement of life,
pawns pressed into service of some politician’s knife,
flashed fangs, rattled sabers,
the blatant fanning of the conflagration for capitalist wagers,
history’s pages are littered with these maniacal crooks,
but who’s reading about the past in their books today?

Patents protected better than patients are,
where a scare can become a scar,
Land of the wage slave, home of the meek sheep that bleat,
corporate owners have us beat.

This does sound┬ábleak, so don’t keep your seat,
stand for Life, Liberty, and the pursuit to seek
a standard, not just sappiness,
our Freedoms must be stressed into practice, yet remain,
despite 45th reign being profane,
the blame laying on Electoral College,
which should have protected, instead a shiny turd polished,
should be abolished, what good’s it for,
except for insuring racists get a place on the floor?

05/30 – After


Once it all happens,
whatever it is,
when we’re on our own again,
grid unplugged,
one in the world,
living off the land and your wits,
you can find me,
Johnny Hempseed,
cultivating a trail across the land,
planting wherever it may grow.

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04/30 – Seed


These mesclun seeds,
assorted bibb lettuces,
sown into my potting soil stuffed into egg cartons,
and brussel sprouts put in peat pellets in a little plastic greenhouse,
they spring open like clam shells,
their tongues probing the earth for purchase,
dreaming of standing tall in the sunlight.

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03/30 – Details

***Adult Content – viewer discretion advised ***


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2/30 – Sowing


It is still not warm enough outdoors,
but inside, where it is warm,
right by the water heater,
with fluorescent bulbs for a light source,
tiny tufts of tomatoes spring forth from their little eggshell homes,
their microscopic scaffolding sewing themselves from
the carbon in the air that I am expelling at them each time I enter their room,
and the nutrients in the compost soil mix I have sowed them in,
in egg cartons for a partitioning between them.

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1/30 – Ketchup

In a hurry on the highway,
(and late, if I had it my way, wouldn’t be venturing at all,
answering a call for clarity,)
speed approaching “harrowing,”
down the pavement barrelling,
passing a pristine off-brown brand-new Nissan Maxima with vanity plates that read,

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