Transgender Love

I regrettably buried the little thing
in a plot not of my first selection,
because my tyrant husband fool that he is
did not approve of where I had originally planned to plant us.

Thus, love at first sight agonized indescribably,
bumped, bruised and battered by careless mowers.
Deprived of lighting and proper care from foster mother,
it pained me to see how she suffered.

Three winters pass, the jerk gives in
to re inter the shriveled tree. Says he;
"If it doesn't die by summer, we'll not apply to it the final solution."
Why oh why, am i so pussy to defend what is mine to cherish?

I plant Precious where she and I had always talked,
in full daylight on the front lawn
where birds can whistle at her.
Within the hour she outgrows me by a head.
I am impressed. She tints of blue,
as blue as blue as any Colorado Spruce could get.

I look her up, I look her down,
her well set trunk, her hanging boughs.
With princess arms my hair she coyly touches
and whispers in that accent, unmistakably coniferous,:
"Were you a male, I'd look to impale you.
You'd be my prince in satin shorts,
in chain mail and shiny armor."

Without a thought, I respond;
"I am, I am, don't let that stop us.
Have you not guessed?
I am your trans gender lover!"

Radix, etcetera

I never see a sky so dull as others claim they see,
for to the misery that is Darfur's
I surrender unconditionally.
But to this, I'll add,
that death absorbs everyone,
and there is nothing worst to lose
than to a villain admit defeat.

Our massacred
in innocence, in age and youth
will soon enough be restored.

Da Vinci's Clues

Understanding is pick and shovel
a sieve purposed to separate useful from useless

Will is the power behind realization
Genius makes simple the complicated

It unifies disparate thinking,
It tests, proves, and cut to the chase

It expunges error
It reformulates

Somewhere in space,
Leonardo is thinking

Grinnll

A bird sanctuary faces my house
on the eastern access to the river
which the Army Corp of Engineers damned
with the result that it's swampy.
Turtles as big as tires sun bathe there,
and there are trees ten stories tall on average

When winds blow from the Ocean Front,
as will they have before Jamestown was founded,
in squalls and gales and storms that frighten,
the canopies, shake unperturbed, and shout in sing;
"So a few of us will fall,
so a few will break their necks."

When such is the heavy weather,
the trees raise their arms and wave celebratory:
"We are here, have always been
as long as memory has deemed to serves us."
The forest talks in tongue humans do not hear.
but is recognized by birds and lower creatures.

What trees lack is a serious appreciation of Time Before,
of when trees were not
because earth fumed, sizzled and spat
and broke atrocious gasses,
But even then, Grrnnll -speak was uttered by other natives;
mineral Grrnnll that stunk of sulfur
Grrnnll downpours which quenched and soaked.

As I write, hail is crashing,
and it's but the 28th of May.
Maybe Grrnnll arrived by comet;
sperm, seed and angel dust
"Comm witt usens to believe.
Will show dings, go figure."

Zip It, Joan!

"Lucky in Mischief,"
but not lucky in love is my name.

Mouth has been my bane and shame
I should never say what I think
except I write it in Sanskrit
and kind of inverted for the boys with the rope.

No, I am not a heretic
and your flames do not feel like icicles,
nor do they lick as might compassionate canines.

Clam Chowder

We share the same address in general,
between the bookends of time and the reachable,

The share the same address in general;
be we herons, fish in beak,
or fish on the brink of depth everlasting.
What oceans are not connected?
What molecule is not molecular?

We share the same predicament in general
between time's unseen bookends and the reachable
the hear and now, the then and maybe,
poles of contraction and expansion,
space moved like checker pieces.

It's like a blustery day
on the coast of new found land.
Like a bowl of clam chowder,
the sea within, the sea without;
In our blood, the fisherman's bait.
In our salt, the tales we tell,
lore that's stellar and navigational
lore that's utterly necessary.

One Mississippi. two Mississippi

"Zero in" would be an oxymoron
were one to miss the target altogether,
but blast the bastard down the middle,
and it's mission accomplished ---
Oh happy days!

To bring to naught what was---
that matter can neither be created nor destroyed,
atom bombs would beg to differ.