ryki zuckerman


i only meant to get a little
to tide me over
but as i stood in the blue day,
bright with crisp fall sunshine,
a young couple walked by,
and their hands, their voices,
meshed together
as if their lives
and the flame of their heat
would always intertwine --
i went to forever with them
a moment --
and by the time
i remembered
what i was doing at the pump,
my tank was full.



the two-feet came;
severed my tattered limbs;
cut my neighbor to bone;
took away the carnage.

i will miss her whisper-song
of wind-tuned leaves
in early summer;

the sun will scald
more deeply come august
without her umbrella
spread out above,
now that its spine is broken,
its drape ripped to shreds;

the move-roots
scurry below,
piling up woodflesh, bark, and twigs
for a winter funeral pyre.