am i a butterfly?
my dreams are fruitless dreams, i have no seed, only a womb.
where is little red riding hood?
its ridiculous for bodies of water to stay together.
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the following are poems inspired by russell edson. bless his soul.
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His buttons are mad. They stare across the room with empty eyes and all frowning. They are unhappy to be used: all they are is used. So they try to undo themselves. "Stop," I say "Stop, this is too much." And I grab them by their empty eyes and press them back in through their corresponding holes. they are always used.
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The One They Call the Healer
The Patient asked again "And what is He for Doctor?" holding up a small serene pill. "Why, that is for the noise!" "Ah, yes, I remember now, and what of Him Doctor?" fingers pinching the same holy pill. "The vision, the vision" the Doctor sighed. The Patient raised the passive pill of Nazareth higher, displaying His friendly smile. "Yes, yes, of course, but what of Him?" "The tremors! Now take the pill!" The Doctor cried and the Patient complied. "Thank you Doctor, I know He died for me, but the reality of it all is terrible!" With that, the Doctor laid the Patient back in his familiar bed, and proceeded to undressed his wife.
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The Smoking Tree
During the winter the tree thrived. Fall They arrived, but winter They stayed, lined up- two rows, like in a pack. In Baran They dwelled, and out of Baran They came, to sit and breathe, as nature intended, with the Smoking Tree. But summer drew Them away, and the Smoking Tree craved more, so it sunk its roots deep in the earth, as only an addict would, and took a deep drag, suffocating all life around it, leaving Baran, barren: the pattern of the season.
