The Last Redwood.
It’s decades into the future,
Or something more like weeks,
And we’re gathered to watch the execution of the last tree,
Destined to be a door or what some call a portal,
Naked and green,
The ground a drab gray and blue,
And blue,
The sky a mural of our past; of red and green and teal and brown,
And smiles and tears and failed tests and collapsing into bed,
The workmen decided to strip the leaves,
Branches given,
Memorabilia; “Its proof of having been here”,
As if my splinters and scars don’t speak,
By the time the had sun set and trash had chilled,
The workmen had ate and left,
But the rest of us sat,
Some in silence and reverence; others boisterously singing,
I don’t know how to feel,
so for now I’ll wait,
Chicken Wings
Do you know why the elderly’s bones are weak?
Their bones leak,
Minerals.
They almost never notice the difference,
Do you feel any different?,
The same question I’ve been tired of since 5 years old,
And the answer is still,
No,
And as my still strong arms turn to chicken wings,
I don’t notice nor feel the difference,
Though I do feel the pit in my stomach,
That cyanide seed destined for greatness,
I hope it grows inside me,
Along with all those watermelon seeds I ate,
And those poppy seeds,
I think It’ll make a good garden,
I think I’ll make a great garden.
Graduation Day:
I was going to write,
A poem on pins,
I hated the whole thing
How it sounded in my mouth felt like rocks,
The words never fit together on the page,
I was once again, for the third or fourth time, trying to write
about my damn pins in a plastic bag,
And it was mocked
Or at least laughed at in what felt like mockery,
And I received the push I needed
I did my best impression of destroying it,
Recently, now, I’ve been waiting too long to make my decisions,
I haven’t made any that feel real,
Although I’ve made many that will permanently affect me,
I still haven’t received the push I need,
All that is carrying me is my inertia,
I don’t know where I’m going.
And I feel like I’m falling awake