seeds

Today

when my mind works like
God’s
window

I could see you the mother
of my children

zipping up one piece snow suits
right up to the chin

making sure all of the mittens
are connected
to the coats.

leave room for the kiss.

and off they go.

no one would
Fuck these seeds up

the roots would go deep

fostered by
you’re
Wonferful
Hands

tend to them like
You’re
garden
On a warm spring afternoon.


my crop fire was so long ago.

and the soil is still full of ash.

and the passers by keep
taking their drunk pisses
On me

and choking me with
their nitrogen


(the eyes envy the palms and fingers
to touch what they can only ever see)






and memories are moments turned chemical.


(miles davis-flamenco sketches)