7/17/19 12:25PM
i like to sit
in those muggy humid storms
that pass through buffalo
like stampedes of soggy weight
and listen to each on of my trees
my beautiful, towering elders
who swallow me in roots
so that i may stay upright
i listen to them sway
each one
whirled and tumbled
and every doldrum hits me like
a ton of shit
in a half ton truck
and i sink deeper into my chair
the ancient wind and rain say
“go sleep, wake early
or you will be swept
take care of yourself
or drag your own heft”
and then a little green man
wearing leather
and old rotten shoes
stands behind my eyeballs
telling me so:
“listen to how beautiful
and dreadful
this driving rain can be
you and your trees
can never kill me”
so i sit and he writes
a blithering mess or two
as i drink my beer
and write deflectively
about cabbage and steer