Silky injections

  As the Mississippi summer sun fell onto my skin  I appreciated it all, being under the trees, the shadow of the leaves. Momentarily blocking the sun from time to time Almost as if Mother Nature was protecting my eyes herself. I lay until the moon came, like I knew it would.  So that night I asked the moon, that same night Was it better to be touched too hard? or not at all?  She then spoke, to me only, she then asked me  Where do you think these craters are from? To be touched is to be loved, under all the seasons. Under the sun or the moon, the wrath of love. Will fall, with no doubt, she will fall.

  I am not afraid to leave home  Even though I will never find the same tree twice  One is rotten and one is creating fruit Where the juice leaks onto my hands and down my arms  I won’t give in to nostalgia  I will have remnants of you Bringing them up out of me uncontrollably  Forever even though your diminished personality has left me for good  far away from home there is a waterless land filled with cacti, sucking dry the energy and hope of the youth.