no. 109

today i feel green

i take this pen and shoot sprouts from its tip

the roots travel up my arm and into my veins, finding their

way to my heart.  it is almost too much,

re-entry via pulmonary vein–especially when

the words don’t find the correct path to

come out again.  instead, they infiltrate my

organs wrapping themselves tightly–an impossible

knot, to which there is no end of beginning.

thus i am compelled to permit the roots’ growth

until, like tip of the pen, they sprout

flowers from my mouth

(written 27 november 2016)