Greenhorn

I'm green and fresh and vegetable.

I've grown but still am, never done.

Don't expect me to know what the tree knows,

don't expect me to understand what it's felt.

When I've yet to bloom any flower,

And still reek of a chlorophyll smell.

Don't ask me to know where the wind goes,

don't ask me to tell what it's seen.

I've yet to be faced by true winter, 

not yet become bistre just green.

Do not expect me to have known,

the answer that hasn't yet seen my head.

For the night-blooming jasmine's response
filled me with nothing but dread.

Lapine, non.

New God of the Rising Sun I: Demeter

Arise! Awaken!

Lady, the earth has shaken!

The earth split, ripe
fruit beneath my feet.

As demeter watched upon
pomegranates, I watched upon sweet

Eyes which only then turned to look,
once at the closer, available, unripe fruit.

Rise! Awaken!

Lady, the thunder's stricken!

A child chasing a crow,
prey bird praying to be preyed upon.
Song to coo to caw.

The wind cold and heavy,

the breath sick and sad.

The ribs giving way to the un-derstand.

Escaping from the kind grasp that I must bite
 through, for I cannot stand.

Then I rose, awakened.
For the Lady my the earth had shaken.

Nineteen Twenty-six

I bit it open to see my heart

reflected within the eyes of a wolf.

Canines that played games with a coney,
not aware that it knows. It knows.

It stands its ground, muffled and stuttered,
acquiescing under the pressuring song.

The words bloom upon the moonlight's shutters,
for the ensnared ones to feast upon.

And once the beast decides to keep quiet,
it chews deep down guts, chest and bone.