A metal and plastic visual world unfolded
surrounds me, a molten symbol,
a gesture of men and women, and power’s fruit:
stainless steel salt shaker cap,
wrinkled shirt on a sweaty lower back,
guilty stink of unleaded gas,
painted brown mulch bathing yellow and white flowers,
their lives forced, pushing from the dirt at gravity’s hue.
This is all within the ominous halo of humanity,
outside, nature breathes on a bubble surrounding,
scrawny cats lick and wonder and make sense of,
I scratch the skin in front of my ear.
My default is to seperate words from nature,
thoughts from the vacuumed carpet reality.

But nature seems to be nature, and I seem to be I,
and everything seems to be everything, words and all.


MARCH 21, 2012

‘Gifts’ by JEREMY MOHLER is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.