TROUNCED


ive been makin these mistakes
since my nails got long
talk abt how many showers i see a month
it rarely rains in february here
now im an olive tree three thousand years old
or some such shit
its the cussing that keeps my fruit coming
i fuck for just a trickle in the early summer
 but im not a dog a dog a dog
 for the moon that barely exists
in my handwritten history books
i mean who won wars anyway
im not tall enough for the fair ride i say
but these little specks carry x times their own weight
im slow in the river w my raft
cross my fingers i wont die for awhile
its i miss you that brings birds back
and i guess i do talk to animals
but in a way thats more than human
i am in love w being unsure of
as i tunnel thru the canopy
wondering when the next tree break
will startle me into walking upright