Pendulum

it rots, and grows

and by it, i mean love

and by it, i mean bodies

and by it, i mean minds

and by it, i mean souls

rot and growth, a pendulum.

but what do i know?

i’m only here for a visit

then i’ll rot, like i said

like i have been

and on occasion i’ll grow

maybe during the spring, the wilted flowers in my ribs will lift their head up slightly and squint at the sun

stay there for a moment or two

“no, thank you, i’ve really got to go”

then rudely summer will push me, nudge me harder,

pricking my ears with its piercing sounds: “grow grow grow”

it doesn’t know i’ll be yearning

for indigo blue

torn lips

frozen limbs

the flowers in my ribs,

shriveled.

i’ll stick my fingers right in the juicy middle of the dried-up fruit of sorrow

let it melt into my tongue

swallow some, spit some out.

maroon splatter on glacial forms.

and i’ll laugh at the wrinkles of time

find the darkness of it all and force it to stay.

and the soul tethers to the rot.

it might seem otherwise for you

but that is precisely what i mean:

otherwise,

other,

wise,

and in between.

but what do i know?