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10 · Jan 2020
Trampoline
ilo Jan 2020
Momma bought the trampoline
From man on the corner
With cobwebs in his hair
And when I start to jump
He always do stare

But when I start jumpin'
My eyes do fail
And I'm left with green skin
And rabbit ears
Don't know why
There's somethin' to that ol' Trampoline

Maybe cobweb hair man
Has cobweb magic
An' his ol' eyes do possess that *****
To make me hallucinate
Sick to my stomach
My hands are now stones
I am left cold straight to the bone

Years go by
And cobweb voodoo do still go on
So I get me a machete
And start wackin at the ol' *****
Voodoo man ain't watchin' now
Sky turn black
Trampoline turn black too
And it start oozing where I do wack

Still so much fun
***** might be voodoo
But momma never knew
And I always wanted a trampoline
So thank you
Maybe I felt more like writing a story than a poem.
9 · Jan 2024
Oak?
ilo Jan 2024
^
| |
------------------------ | |oak, are you lonely,
---------------------------------- | |or do hyphae reach that far?
--------------------- | |alone in the field.
| |
--------------------------- | |oak, how is your day?
---------------------------------- | |is bluestem good company?
----------------------- | |are you lonely too?
| |
---------------------------- | |oak, aren't you so tired,
--------------------------------- | |standing so tall in the field?
-------------------------- | |i'm real tired too, oak.
| |
--------------- | |inosculation.
----------------------------------- | |need be, need me, i am here.
------------------------ | |you can lean on me.
| |
| |
| |
| |
| |
------------------------------------------------------------
2 · Aug 2020
the nomad
ilo Aug 2020
the vagabond
drifter
the vagabond
condemned
to stay?

i wander
i ponder
and thus wander
i felt nothing
so i try to feel

the city
oh
my eyes, marbled and glassy
the lights
the windows
the city
my head, happy

but on a clear day,
you can see forever
and i cannot see three feet
where have the trees gone
impervious
mi madre
ma mere
my mother
my earth
my feet are refused her
refused dew born grass on bare feet
where are the other deer
there are no animals here
blood of my blood
nowhere
none near

so with revision
and contemplation
and unsure, premature opinion-making
i rephrase:
i am not the vagabond?
i am the nomad

— The End —