Inspiration: Eric Weinstein.
The View From a Hill
A mango turns soft
The hill grows grass and I
do not grow grass
I drop guacamole on my heel
A dress turns soft
My firm hand on her back
very Titanic hand
Handshake awkward when I make to leave
A mango is red
unripe spots sour and bleed
I once-sip soda
courageous in excess sugar
A dress is red
fabric measured and quartered
I see clearly and walk slowly
above potholes of speeding motors
A mango rises in the sky
the sky swallows my sighs and
carves wide lengths to wallow
A galaxy expands that might otherwise dust
A dress rises in the sky
collects deciduous light
My slouch is curved yellow
I am curved not yellow
A mango sits
the flesh turns fibers
to sweet orange soda or a round pothole
a Milky Way spread thick with hummus
A dress sits
on a damp plaid cushion
in the downward slope of the city
in the lantern scope of the city
A mango and a dress turn soft
A mango and a dress rise in the sky
A mango and a dress sit
not long or tough or not enough or not sweet enough, not perfect
