I’ve Given Everyone a Copy


First I was from the sky and then I was a toad stuck in an oatmeal box. My opinion
was lifted.
Something I used to know was flying from the lawn sprinkler. Invented without
rest, I was well taken. My opinion was redistributed.

I was left behind. I was kidnapped. I wasn’t available for coffee.
A hot little number like him. Who knew?

If it’s huge and it’s yours and it’s a likelihood, then who’s the likely hood? Now
we’ve got us on each other. We’ll both want the holidays. Time alone is our first affair.

There’s a thrush trying to find itself in my window. I didn’t know it would thump
like that and hurt me.

I’m no longer here because I’m there, but a quality of kindness was missing.
His shirt too white and clean.

Why do the young always migrate west when the cool promises sleep in the north
while the east unwraps itself and the south, well, the south just slows down and waits for
what it needs?

I don’t know much. I guess that makes me an expert on one thing. You don’t have
to be suicidal to think a lot.

So I gave unto it sixfold. Those after butchers.
The evolution of the patient disease.

And there was everything with its foot on the upholstery.

And there I am. Beside it. Beside where it was. Beside myself. Still no longer.

Then finally I was lifted from myself, an autumnal Finnish excess of bloodleaves
brightening before the kiss that draws them down.
Horrible things have happened to others and I can’t stop thinking about how it
affects me.

Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.