Ginseng/ relief
to you, “these. Arms. of. Mine.”
represent so completely.
But everything that's personally wrong with me
. I'd argue
the same force is corresponding on these,
so the natural fault isn't my own,
it's terrafatalistic destiny:
the gentle, kiss crush sound of peeling skin
sticky and sick from green, vinyl-backed, wheel-chairs
Like the sweet poison smell of quadriplegic--
they're not plastic? stinking with dew.
By our shared fever-dream,
these same-soil forces formed you,
shape-o-the-pinkie-toes are gravitational
gloop and also saturating basal shapes
of ginger and ginseng roots, homogeneously: thusly:
imagine the daintiness,
very baby red potatoes, the same
cutesy congenital force is required to create
blind eyes in both starchy veg. and meaty fetus
and the merely statistically stunted growth
of this male's delicate, no,
frail & protruding, wrist bones.
All of them carved in fluid.
Cut in the ice near the jackfish and the starry plankton,
close to genetic juggernauts like grandpas come before,
by the wiggling heat
of the swimming comma
the pinpointed apex
of cream, and mitochondria,
of romantic, rain-hollowed mouths, untragically agape.
steaming breath pressed with teeth to your cheek
revealing a sort of secret conception of Night,
not based on the sun and it's discreet spin
or a deeper faith in sex
not devoted to mere ease of friction
but the challenge of being wholly immersed,
the cavity of concordance
Heaven. Vanity. Tinnitus.
They all compete with our
Who's behind
false-cock sense of
blame and motivation.
