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The diagnosis is raspberries

or blueberries

or mulberries

berries of the brain

harmless nothings

sweet somethings

berries bleeding dusk

and then

dirt in your eyes

dirt in your lungs

dirt from above

homegrown berries reborn

in a field shared by your kin and country

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Stickered existence
I was a victim of a drive-by
the brushing of a Holly tree
and the prickers lining the plastic leaves

The scrape of bark
nature’s equivalent to concrete
I will bleed and it will be sweet

And then there’s pine needles
and rocks
and caves
the dangers obvious
the consequences clear

Deep down it’s you and the dirt
no analogies
no depth
you and the dirt

there’s dirt and food under my nails

simply washing my hands doesn’t rid me of it

I have to painstakingly dig under each one

water purifying them

rinsing the grit away

as if.

SOB with me

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