The grapefruit tree explodes with the power of its senselessness.
To hold this thought in my mind I had to shoo away many others.
It’s really a leap to believe Howdy Doody was actually speaking
when he sang all those songs, and not some semi-retired Oklahoman.
We don’t seem to be working that hard at deflecting asteroids
but we talk about them all the time, like diamonds we can’t wait
to meet in person, more charismatic moons. This cocktail of hardwood
and bamboo laminates might be my best friend tonight
when my love is away listening to Mexican radio and the wind
howls like a spooked cartoon, frisking the leaves of the grapefruit
tree dead from last week’s frost. If anybody comes looking for me
tell them I’ve gone to be one of those big babes in the dipper.
Whatever speaks through me is throwing its voice from afar.
