Franklyn Monk

The sky, not to personify more
than I have to,
grew weary from watching
over the earth
you could tell by the bags
under his eyes

so the fucker just disbands
one day
without so much a word
and easy as you please
slowly fades
away

I’m afraid to ask
(abandonment is known to shadow the question)
if I hurt you
(a rupture spilling blood is all it takes to summon the beast)
but, I’m insecure
(and I know you are)
and I talk too much
(the streets are filling with blood
splashing across brick walls
and landing in your sundae)
but when the streets are filling with blood what do you do?
(they search for high ground)
you keep talking damn it

I conjure acorns out of potential
and pop them in my pocket

and then there’s this long thing about planting and tending to trees

then I cut those fuckers down
carving back away the nasty parts

I strive to create daydreams for the people
   fantasies to drop in on
   when time allows

Buddhisms like that
   it guides the wandering mind