fruit
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This Is Just To Say William Carlos Williams
I have eatenthe plumsthat have eaten inthe plums and whichyou have eaten probablyeatenfor plums Have eaten plumsthey have eaten deliciousso plumsand so plums
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How You Are Like a Cantaloupe
one shouldn’t courtsuch controversyso early on with nopayoff plan in placeone means this to be a simple poem about ribald rind brainiac of seeds dis-solves brown sugarhypotaxis in scaldinggreen tea teaches the kid a thing or two about sweetness manners likea cantaloupe.
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Piero Manzoni
Wikipedia Poem, No. 474 really want a pineapple exhibited in you wouldn’t really want a pineapples quite highly as that look like green fountains at the top he said but you wouldn’t really want a pineapple exhibited in you wouldn’t really want a pineapple exhibited in you wouldn’t really want a pineapple exhibited in you…
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Impossible Numbers
Wikipedia Poem, No. 418 after Vijay Seshadri and numbers no matter how abstract laced together in a ceramic bowl farmost impossible an implication of angels argue about 3 green apples in an old lady’s outstretched hands the numb plain makes no sense lust in a cracked ceramic bowl clearly the old lady and the victim…
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[You’re a fucking p]
You’re a fucking p lum of the self ish—I can see down your shirt. Moss predawn across liquid eye lid intimates illness and promise and premise—I can see up your nose. How many YouTube views until you cross over? Have you ever cared about your first love? Statistically speaking: You’ll be dead soon.
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Untitled Standard Love Song, 04142014
You mention yr secret like a chipped front tooth shot across the grapefruit sky yr smile smoke trails behind And I defer … slice my name in two spray its pieces with hundreds of random numbers where they feed I feast Now you know me.
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Who Is Not Me But a Metaphor
It’s OK Say it No Out loud Good, good Next time yr held Or perhaps holding — that Core warm brand of love — Say it, again Just above a whisper It’s OK Say it To the sea wind To the cheap crumpled bed sheets by whom? To that masterfully grown blood orange…
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sense memory no. 1 [revision, 082320121822]
suddenly the sweetness of some fruit i can’t recall memory’s maw models some flowery drupe, not a mango spread across a lisp thin wheat its saccharine spear implacable i heave on repeat, breathe in hopes of dislodging the pneumonic of seeds, split spit and juice — an unmistaken but missing flame [for Matthew Rohrer, 062120121546]
wikipoem.org 