Anthropomorphization

Sideshow Shrub I

One fine day
in east upper Tennessee’s Bitch Holler,
I came across a shrubbery
who deferred to me on every dang decision I made.
I mean, I assume it did.
It never actually told me so,
I just figured it had that kind of vibe.

Based on that recommendation
from my local cosmic ombudsman
regarding the malice factor (or lack thereof),
I scooped down and started
collecting this fine specimen by the roots
as tenderly as a mongrel like myself possibly could.
I more likely than not snapped a good few
tendril roots, and for that
I apologized profusely all the way home.

The burlap sack smudged dirt
all over the passenger’s seat of my
monkeyshit brown ’89 Corolla. ‘Twas then
that I surmised it could go no other way
if I wanted to get my karmic alignment
back into okay shape.

And not much time had not elapsed before
I realized the beauty of lugging around
genuine Bitch Holler dirt
in my beat-up and grimy ol’ import.

Feels Derivative

Ah, that dreaded dog-eared page
on this, the day of my footballs game.
Beefheart would have put it best,
but I certainly can’t hold it against him,
poor chap.

Maybe now I can come back from
under his shadow. I think he’d like that
very much.

I never got the chance to thank him
or say bye (good or otherwise), but
as I reconnect to the planet at large
he somehow knows.

Maybe he’s commanding his love infantry,
and all I need is to follow the leader.
It feels derivative, but screw it.

Son’s Metal ‘Phant

Son’s metal ‘phant–
the oldest and wisest of all
the terrestrial mammals
that we’ve uncovered to date–

has an uncanny ability to get under one’s skin
in a matter of minutes, though

you’d think that such a gigantic specimen
would have trouble assimilating themselves
into such a tight space.

Fortunately for us (and, indeed, the world at large),
proportionality has no place here.

Public or Private

Pudgy pigeons
pluck plinko players
from plaid plundering,
piracy never preferred
over pragmatic pilgrimages
(purchased with privilege
and pursued with primeval
predilections). Predictions
produce practically no pressure
in this prideful pageant, Professor–
public or private.

With a Vengeance

I thundered through the threshold,
enthralled by many a porcupine diary–

when will we ever learn the true everlasting
Constantinople cantaloupe constitution?
I reckon never, though many local geniuses
think there’s a global phenomenon unfolding
with a vengeance.

I can only postulate,
though the post-latte high
seems to have stalled for a moment,
just briefly enough to incriminate
the most experimental of dancers
both near and far.

We’re still left baffled
by Hemingway’s cat collection,
but a learned individual once told me
that the more toes a feline has, the closer to
ultimate self-actualization
the beholder becomes.

Shotgun or no shotgun,
there’s quite a bit of cortex
to bandy about all willy nilly
if you’re willing to lose a day or two
to the unbending, unaltered
chimpanzee rhetoric machine.
Oh lord, I’ve lost
too many days
to count.

Beg to Differ

The alligator
prefers the ditties
over the deities,

though the allocator
would beg to differ.

Longing

I track my razors
how a bird of prey
tracks its ancestors’ nest locations:

stealthily
and otherwise full of a longing
that I can’t begin to understand
without years of intense psychotherapy.