BOTANICA

10.19.19
mullein it over
again and again does nothing for the trajectory of a capricious wind
sending the flames this way and that
stinking the necks of warm hands
at the risk of drowning in smoke
like it can’t make up its mind

nor should it
how sad for the dandelion
if it could only move in one direction

BOTANICA
8.25.19

dear moss,
you are nobody’s hero. and nobody needs you. desperately.
id like to think all the hardest coldest people ive ever met were once as soft as water, that’s the tragedy of living.
im trying my best to be more like you
ever so patient with the one way tide
maybe thats the lesson here
to remain fluidly in now.
i mean, look at us – him and i and you i mean
paradise to ourselves
free
a universe of possibilities and yet
here we are, content to touch feet-to-water-to-moss
perhaps it s not so frighting
for love to make us blind to the world
the magic happens here, after all
in this shallow pool where cicadas and lovers play

BOTANICA
8.22.19

November 8, 2013
super typhoon Yolanda was the strongest storm
to ever make landfall in the recorded history of the world
6,340 people died that day.
their homeland
a country of islands drowning in US oceans
in US lands – politicians label climate change a myth
they deny the dead’s existence
as if natural disasters only count when there are white bodies to bury
each year, an average of 20 typhoons hit the Philippines
Stephanie tells me “God is punishing us. How else can you explain this?”
and what can i say
to a woman, born from ocean who fears the sea

the wrong amazon is burning
the wrong ice is melting
black and blue
we’ve made the world one giant bruise
she’s been here long before you
and she will continue to be here, without you
if you do not start giving a shit
she will soon stop giving a shit about you.

how can you call her mother anything
did no one ever tell you about the cracks on the sidewalk?
the erosion on poison youre creating
soon there’ll be nothing but cracks for you to step on
i bet you didn’t know
something so round
could have a spine
that could break
bending over backwards to fit you
feed you
drinking from the tit too long she’s run dry

how are people not mourning?

BOTANICA

08.06.19.

fig love
the type that tendrils
ripe for the picking its
short of a death trap
carnivorous without a badge
there’s nothing digestive about that
only lust that kills and
brings life
plump full fig wasp
what it feels to be made
to die inside that which you love most
let them judge you – i for one know there’s more sting to a bite than venom
we know rejoice-cracked knuckles
build houses more often than they tear them down

BOTANICA

7.21.19
mulberry sweet sugar wine – not today
for the reminder
what you want and what you need arent always shaking hands

blackberries a box of chocolates
thorn riddled and grounded
bend down
twist your spine forehead to heart
in in in into yourself takeagoodhardlook
the finesse of your fingertips working every single branch

to bleed
where does fruit end and body begin

let it be a lesson here
the shake my tree earthquake love
is out of season

BOTANICA
1.15.19

this fruit is desert in polysaccharide
sugar me sweet
slip of the tongue and fingers stained satisfaction pink

this is basket dance
this step into my garden
thorns and rattlesnakes never tasted so good

this fruit is heat and sizzle
some star on a tree we knock down with
the spines of those who were

worth every sunburn