I have peacocks
and Arabian horses.
And my God I have peaches
more than I can fit into my pockets and
overflowing my arms and
bouncing rolling softly around my feet when they fall from my
desperate hands.
fear like I’ve never known
as these marvels roll away.
running after one after another after another;
looking for the next—
Best thing,
I can almost always find myself in the flesh of fruit.
And the way you chill my bones
It blows me apart, the way
I’ve been looking to be blown apart
these shivers, chills
The Black Plague can’t rival the
shakes and moans you’ve inspired.
Writhing, scared, among rotting peaches…
As I’m laying among the wreckage
I hoped you’d tilt and
fall
in my direction
to get up on me,
peak,
and rattle again
as a peacock cries from the corner of my yard
she fears the wolves that circle my house
like a pen.
But every night I teach these birds to fly,
tomorrow agenda: I’ll teach you to cry.
