apple for the carrot child

Ill; discomfortable. Waking up to aches and maladies. Eating like dirt, like hair and teeth. Force it down your throat: swallow quiver repeat.

The only music is like ice thrown to the ground. The only intimacy is distance. Paradox, mystery--call it what you will. The bell still rings. One day you will grow into your body and you will find it stuck to you and you will look around and say The world is here look at this How sane How beautiful and difficult and Therefore True. Sometimes what you imagine is not true and then you don't find it anywhere and Sometimes what you imagine is true and then it's as if We Are All Here. You can find your place.

Some days all you can want is the rain. Never forget, if you can help it. Memory is the key to the city, the apple for the carrot child. Sunrise is a kiss after twelve years in prison.

Never forget, if you can help it. You may climb a tree and call to the field. You may think of a thousand honeyed fingers. You may follow the vines to their dewy Maypole ends. You may stick and swear and bleed out into the soil to pass yourself along, tag you're it, retching truth like a crushed lung. You may; but if you forget you lose your photograph hands. If you forget you become a breathless carbon-chain leaf left loosely in blueberry fennel: empty flavor. Never meant to be tasted.

Remember bread: fingers spread. As though it could be solved.