Hurts
like a hurty thing,
stings like a nettle needle sings.
Weeps like wounds like eyes –
working soil with tender touch.
Turnips sprout petal white and purple
as hands scrape pebble’s
purchase – savored scent of blood
and bouquet.
Beauty can hurt like a hurting thing,
hard work sprouts into pretty
scene, but brings no joy.
Blooms
bring melancholy. To be enjoyed --
erratic
empty.
Break ground,
cut hand
on rabbit bone,
feed soil
with hurt.
King Lepus says in therapy,
you are not a crazy thing,
you are not a damaged thing.
You can only feel like crazy
damaged thing,
but you are not your feeling thing.
Lepus’ rabbits regard silver lupine, carnival carrots
bunched and crowded. In intervals
rot can feed
and compost. Hives
that swell and swarm
and blunder: tears / feelings of bliss asunder.
And take deep breaths, feel dirt, feel tactile,
regain connection, recoup, reclaim.
David Morck is a Poet, Writer, Academic Web Developer at the Oviatt Library at CSU Northridge, Accessibility Advocate, and Open Access Apologist. His Twitter is @morckpoetry.