The Day You Become A Poet, You Love The Reindeer Named Vixen

Every word a wriggly animal

or unstable chemical agent...

He didn't see it coming

but when he bought a can

of Rustoleum metallic gold

spray paint, he felt like

he had acquired

a new personal power....

Well, I rose up in a coastal forest,

cousin to the redwood trees,

friends with the mushrooms

that bubbled up all around.

All knew I'd leave the soil

to travel off with birds and deer.

Movement shocked some, a sorcery

of sorts. Son of dandelions,

ready to ride the next wind...

I had ideas no one liked, and so I was a weed,

I guess. Everything else got watered as I waited

for a drop of rain. Relentless annual, though,

I kept coming back. Seasons were just ticks

and tocks. Beware the march of lawn!

And the heavily pruned blooming

may be mere distraction!

They're going to annihilate us...

What say you, clouds?

Are we right to fall away?

Empty the beginnings

like a bag of old belongings

into which we accidentally

tossed our only comb...

They say we must destroy ourselves

or someone else will do it first

(and we are not who we think we are)...

It could be the size of a pocket,

and it could open up in the middle

of the living room. I'd climb in....

Or age into nothing to say

because no one's listening anyway,

and there is no magic beyond money,

good luck and maybe the right dog....

What's next? Clones to kill ourselves...

Yes, you see a thing / you can touch the thing.

The real matches up seamlessly.

Still, the universe hints that it's not
sewn together quite so well.