May 9, 2017

wer a one, stone-tabled outside the rain ...

 'Alas, I Cannot Swim' (2012)
by Jehan Choo ©

a thrift store biscuit dive : 
I mean can playing what ifs on the edge 
bring on an apocalypse, someone's, I'm sure 
but not mine, not yet, 
I have need where 
my heart lives 
bellow liver and goats
all putrid remains 
of chances not taken 
are buried 
in the basement 
what I hid 
is jar lid me(s), 
what I remember 
the popping sound 
and smells, open windowed  
warm Autumn 
canning late peppers 
and tomatoes 
playing what ifs 
on the edge 
tide skipping 
flipping off 
the grackles 
and pipers 
on a wire 

it is almost 
another full Moon 
and May is buttering 
bread past time, the  
what ifs are what is 
said as  true 
and we have to 
try and feed 
the masses again 

I'll make something 
zucchini, tomato, onion and pepper 
water early and globes of garlic 
the Sun pilfer neared absolution  
and whole religions 
rise die and rise again 
because of it, each 
a little more special 
in their own eyes 
don' t you think  
besides, we've been throwing 
the young and the elderly 
into the deep end 
for awhile now 
and yes as with the end 
of most poems 
reflecting a future 
with and without me 
a icy cold nehi, 
would be great 
right now ...


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