Sunday, May 23, 2010

Cherries Wet in the Sun (formerly Stream Consciousness); draft #3

As a youth I would climb high up on thin-limbed tree,
pick cherries, drop them in a bucket
and relish the wind on my face and the sunshine that warmed my skin.

But when summer downpours sucked my sister down a ditch
under and inside thorn bush's scratchy insides
I learned not to expect worn out shoes
or tattered clothes to keep the rain out:
funky mold and fungal feet swollen like monkey paws
clutching pacifiers licking lips rinsing toothpaste.
Tobacco smoke residue whitens teeth as history too before us.

Parched throats in need of water
arid eyeballs stare into periscopes with foggy lenses
down down down the drain
meter maids make money,
mountain gorillas run on four legs
knuckles skip against stones,
they learn how to speak without American accents
and instead use sign language:
universal love signifies speech like bitches signify heat.

Birds see trees and buildings alike
and so they unintentionally find the best real estate
with interest accrued on profits made
deathless the pale rider comes to rescue her from herpes.
Rare is the prize fighter punching holes in walls,
thumping charcoal skulls
till iron-cast blood runs from holes new made:
projectiles finding fingers crawling clawing the brain.

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