written By
Again with lightning bugs and blooms. The grass
A resurrected green that dusk deepens,
Enhances even. Blinking, blinking no less
Realistic as mushroom trips, sci-fi zines.
The bedroom window cracked, my lover’s breath
Upon my throat, and Coltrane keening, shrieking
From down the hall. It’s either this or death?
A heaven. Hell. Am I to lay here begging
Forgiveness of sins? And just what sins are those
But ones of survival? Nature; nurture. Science
Is on my side for sure, but cannot close
The deal, blast one past the outfield fence.
So thanks, I guess, for nothing. Maybe thanks
For separating thoughts from what one thinks.
