HOUR SEVEN ~ Portrait of a Gremlin Child Grown Up


~for Peyton, and the mullberries


the adult in me is a color vampire

draining the rich greenness out of the woods


what I touch I consume

what I consume is left listless

straining into something like classy

the way a gold sharpie can lend an air of wealth

without the breath to taste any aura of illusion


this wasn’t always the way

once there was wildness

berry-stained exuberance & gremlin delight

the way memes, like poetry, capture a heart

without daring to think next of how to tame it


the adult in me is hungry & ugly & bruised

& more than anything ashamed of all this being


so do I wish myself back into color?

are you wishing with me, climbing up into the brambles?

do I turn pages hoping for another splash,

berries again this time instead of wine?


choosing grass stains over sex sweat or maybe

only so simple as choosing not to choose

my sorrow above my joy


our sorrows and our joys share us all in time

scratched arms and full bellies go together

choosing to love like I don’t know my own hurts

reaching to see the colors I can give instead of take

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