Poem by David Morck

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.