matt pond PA

June 25, 2018

I Love Your Poison.

The mountain laurel is blooming in the Catskills sway. Small white flowers, with delicate pink dots and springing stamen. A cascade of cottony bubble umbrellas pouring through the greenery, noiselessly roaring in the forest.

I can say anything out here. I am all me. Violet hues circling baritone eyes, finally forgiving. Loud and lonely, wild theories and imbecilic jokes. Lambent sunlight mimics slow rolling eyes, yet nothing walks away. Nothing can object to the honest expression of another form of life.

The trees themselves, it takes more time to understand or misunderstand them. Hello is spelled out over an entire season. By the last syllable, fall will have opened up the sky.

When I ride my bike at night, I don’t stop for the sidewalkers, the echoing hellos, shiny pale skin under mourning streetlights, the call for acclaim. (The urgency of our words could destroy us. But not tonight.)

Flying on bent pedals to the edge of town, all to feel the texture of your bark upon my lips. Together, we form a silent ridge smile .

There will eventually be a need for firewood. You poison me to protect yourself and we laugh and laugh up to the very last gasp.