Blossoms

Stranded cyclamen
Alone in an empty break room
Withering without the sun’s attention
Desperately longs for the rain
As it wills its dead branches into the air
Like Atlas with only memories to uphold

Then one day a young woman finds it there
And identifies with its brave attempt to live
Bereft of the things that would make it flourish
She stares at it long and hard
Selecting which stems to prune
Understanding where the blooms should spring

Water succulently penetrates its way down
Into the comforting solace of the soil
Now damp and nurturing
A safe haven of growth and new life
Leeches its way into the foundation
Of the dreary plant now quenched

The young woman draws the cyclamen to her
Caressing its leaves with hushed murmurs of affection
As she gently places it in the sun
Whose benevolent shining rays
Succor the plant into a bountiful display
As lush fullness enraptures the simple plastic pot

She is happy for her cyclamen
Grateful for the sun that shines on them both
She in her chair; the plant on the sill
With nothing but a simple reliance on each other
The cyclamen depending on her for life
As she relies on tending it.

Guess.

Stop. Start.
Stop. Start.
Fits, fucks, frenzies
Feelings with no purpose
Meanings
Dueling
The vague obviousness
Of the way it all stops
Starts.

Caught in a hiccup
Perpetually
Sipping on a bowl
Brimming with not enough

Stop. Start.

Drag that one deep
Lung-ridden measure of black tar paradise
Make me unworthy
For a finger to point
Reverently
And ask why do you
Stop. Start?

Desperately clinging
Tongue mold
Tied down fast
Keeping the prayer silent
Lighter in hand
Choking the words
Bellowing from the gullet
Warm wind wishes
To stop.

But how do we start?

Chomp Your Bit

Give me grit
Tooth impounded
Grainy, chewy, un-ending
Hard stares
To here
Center
Elicit the serpentine belt of time
Make me wear away
The taste
Un-listen the resonance
Pounding
Relentlessly
Refill my cup
Serve me as I serve you
Without logic
Or hidden treasures
Sequestered
Tucked away in recessed
Fortresses mortared by heart’s blood
Tears
Vague desire
Waning
By the moonlight
Driving the vicious tides
Harder and harder
Into the deep, ceaseless cacophony
Whispering
Shouting
Embodying the gray space in between
The teeth plagued
By the grit
Insisted.