The Richter Scale goes off the charts
when I set my cup down a little
too hard; juggling the sense of proportion
with the attentiveness apparently desired
some words will never be rhythmic.

The hair trigger of an assumption machine
sends me down a Rube Goldberg of paths
matching the miniscule to a forever of effects
enjoying every bite of the almost forbidden fruit
when strawberries are in season.

Language yields: warm coconut oil to a spoon
spreading and melting, unremovable from surfaces
as more words rise from the primordial snooze
sleeping at the beginning of time; this is 
how we started talking about life.

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s