one dot six one eight

When I was young, and spiteful,

I held my brother’s toy through the window

and let it fall the shortest path,

headed for a six year old’s revenge.

 

I don’t know the laws that govern descent.

Regardless, they drive soft cotton flesh to meet

scraps of lawn

with sharp precision.

 

And there are laws that govern growth.

When plants grow towards the light they too

follow the path

which leads them soonest to their goal.

 

I see this on my sill,

a rose with golden sunlight on its green,

and golden numbers

in the spiral of its red

 

Beauty and efficiency can be kin,

but I do not see efficiency

in the down of your ear,

or the curve of your calf.

You could be governed by nothing so harsh,

even though I am falling for you

by the shortest path.

 

Originally published by AYLY, and Oxford Magazine.

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one dot six one eight

old growth

humanity’s death started as a fashion.

bodies stained dollar bill green,

and cells verdant with foreign genes

growing into us, as ivy grows

into old brick.

 

escape from city life

with the clean air seeping from your pores.

greenhouse gases – now your slaves, and your sugars.

better to farm yourself than to rape the earth.

saving the world – a side-effect of free food,

and guilt-free minds.

 

but those seeds took root too deep.

forests grew from our flesh, swollen and rough.

when it rips, count rings –

new skin for each year passed.

 

hands that once held chainsaws and coffee cups,

now splintered.

a cascade of skeleton branches, and leaves

quivering with sunrise

that bleed when broken.

 

This placed in the finals of the Parallel Universe Poetry Competition.

old growth