Text
I’ve eaten August &the burst-purple
leaves of a new hydrangea.
No blossoms—just bunches
of green getting bigger
after sundown. Everything blooms
late- blueberrys itself
with succulent
mouths of roses
&quartz borders
&branches. I ask
&my wishes rattle by the thousand
hum like infested houses
I’m a murderer
I’m wasteful
with gifts. I drop
beetles into beds
of women I want to kiss.
My sun can taste
detergent spoiled
creases of denim
&cotton
&sugar
&unseasonable heat.
I have this mouthful
of soil &solids
I have these hands
&they are hungry