Who the Hell Does He Think He Is?
The edge of the axe is fat and blue. It hurts more like that. The woodsman has been
pursuing fleeing oranges since noon. He isn’t a short man. Don’t give him any blueberries.
Don’t give him your name. Don’t give him anything. The edge of his finger is fat
and red. It doesn’t remember any organizations. It doesn’t have to bleed to miss the
paradoxical blessing of your darkened sympathy. It doesn’t have to swim.
The woodsman still hasn’t caught up with the oven. He still hasn’t exercised any
O but you can be sure he’s going to. You can be sure of that.
O, O, O but the pain is so entirely terrestrial.
It’s not enough that he grew up. It’s not enough that he whimpered.
You see, I was talking to Mildred the other day and she told me I should invest in
sharpeners. She told me I was under-represented. So I represented her good. Right in the
dark forest with the woodsman still pursuing oranges.
The woodsman doesn’t believe in scar tissue. He doesn’t believe in tangellos.
There never has been a catalyst worthy of his innocence.
But don’t give him anything, okay?
Slick eyes and dusty fat. That’s what it means to those of us who grew up with the
I don’t know if this is the time to tell you, but old people have been growing faint.
I guess the woodsman’s enduring innocence frightens them. They retreat into their
departing lives. Become under-represented. Acquire small unhealthy pets and godparents
and cigarette burns and annoy people with them. Live in a couple of narrow rooms with
Don’t give him strawberries. Don’t give him squat.
Because the trees are not as frightened as you might think.
Because the fleeing oranges have been escaping for centuries.
Because the edge of the axe is so fat and blue.
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.