finger tips tracing
thick glossy pages
shiny apples, plums, pears
apricots, peaches
peachy peaches
I wipe a bit of drool from parted lips
I want to brew herbal teas
(witch-potion green)
to pour by the bucketful
over mounds and mounds of ramial mulch
a mulchy woodsy blanket
to snug around teeny tiny apple trees
the baby trees: "whips"
brings to mind a dormant firecracker
a pencil-thin projectile of possibility
Even the pests look colorful
and infinitely manageable
With my weapons:
the neem oil
the liquid fish
the horsetail tea
(witch-potion green)
the woodsy mulch
the whitewash of refined kaolin clay - Tom Sawyer style
Fun fact: fungus is my friend
1 comment:
I love this poem in its entirety - it's love of words and gardens and concoctions - it is a wordy garden concoction itself.
I love the abruptness and slight deviation of the last line. Such a good way to "end" a stream of consciousness without violating its stream-iness.
Dare I make requests of the Wizard of Soggy Peanut Shells?
MORE VERSE!
MULTIVERSE!!
CONVERSE!!!
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