Don’t Do It in Public
This is unfinished business. The context is neither reconnaissance nor
contingency. Nor am I merely spitting at flies.
Have a seat at the great scarred table where bean juice and the great laws reside
equally in the declivities. Here I acknowledge cream cheese and large turnips. Sometimes
I don’t sleep.
It’s not random, it’s expansive.
You let your hands do the yelling while your body listens. Unfinished business is
Then the vacuum of funeral orations. Not yet yours.
It’s a kind of fire, but it burns unevenly.
Not the door but the entrance.
Allowing a little mischief through.
In the barnyard the lucky couples wait. Anvil and tong, miter and square, tackle
Now the sky’s angry institutions grow thunderingly annoyed, lackey-lustered
clouds clenched in portentous deliberation.
And there’s more unfinished business and there’s just no time for it. It’ll climb
under your pleasantries. It’ll make your ass pucker. It’ll interrupt your possibilities. It’ll
whimper and groan. Its cold touch will collect your irritations. The heat of you surfacing
and ready to leap. Every particle of your person steamed and seething.
Could you have escaped even yourself?
Juice it, agri-nerd, this cheese is green.
Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press. Lost? Refer to the Burrow Guide.