Day 25: Tupelo Press 30/30 Poetry Project ( National Poetry Month)


The yellow thistles 

creep up the land and bloom. I lose 
my shoes at a sandpit and wear shorts.

No regrets to die today.

The spangled ice 

falls at night. I collect 
shooting meteors by riding a bicycle.

I am too 
young to be a poet. I want 

to be a ghost hunter.

Could I live three more days or thirty years?

A deer decays 

on the spring snow. I open 

a refrigerator, take out bologna, 
and drop tomatos on the kitchen floor.

Binoculars are sold 

at the edge of universe. I find 
a rabbit in the whiteout.  

Time ticks. I cannot 
open the spaghetti jar.  
Boiling water splashes 

on my eyes.  

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