so much depends
barrow just one weird, loose red plum missing a sticker
beside the white
chickens moldy strawberries
So different, this
stream fruit basket overflowing
In a field of discarded plum pits.
If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and a plum I named Kathleen
and the sun is a
flame-white disc big goddamn YELLOW plum what wow I went there
in silken mists
above shining plum trees or wait, do they grow on vines? Hold on, let me check,—
if I in my north room
dance naked while juggling seven plums, grotesquely
mirror plum TREE — that’s right I looked it up, it’s trees, we’re all good
my shirt a torn-out page with “This Is Just to Say” round my head
and singing softly to myself:
lonely, lonely plummy, plummy.
I was born to be
lonely a plum-hit wonder,
I am best so for I’ve peaked in peak plum season!”
If I admire
my arms, my face,
shoulders, flanks, buttocks juicy erotic plums
against the yellow
drawn shades plum meat,—
Who shall say I am not
happy genius of my household? remembered as “He was like, a doctor who wrote about plums, right? We read that poem in 9th grade! I didn’t get it.”
I lie here thinking of your feedback, which is great, here’s a basket of plums to say thanks:—
the stain of
love plum juice
the world my shirt!
Yellow, yellow, yellow
it eats into
the leaves my writerly pride to know that I’m just a plums content creator now,
saffron sad old plums AKA prunes AKA my future
horned branches misshapen plum stems that lean
against a smooth purple
sky plum skin!
There is no light
only a honey-thick stain
that drips from plum leaf to plum leaf
and plum tree limb to hey look another plum tree limb
spoiling the colors
of the whole world that only wants to read “The Waste Land” now, whatever, I don’t care—
You that’s right, T.S., I mean you, take it personally far off there under
the wine-red selvage of the
west! plums, that’s right, they’re my niche now, have you heard?
“A Sort of a Plum Song”
snake plum wait under
his weed a big-ass pile of underripe purple sour fruits in the grocery crate
and the writing
words literally only 30-calorie plant spheres, slow and quick cold and sweet, sharp
strike plum, quiet to wait plum,
— through a tree-ripened ovary metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stone
Compose more plums media. (No ideas
things the genus prunus) Invent more species of plums!
Saxifrage is my
flower new word for plums, see Ezra, I’m “making it new” ya turd that splits
rocks plummy plummy plum flesh, which is apparently all I am now, it’s fine I’m fine.
To a Poor Old Woman Plum” munching a plum on
the street a paper bag
of them in her hand
They taste good to her
They taste good
to her. They taste
good to her
You can see it by
the way she gives herself
to the one half
sucked out in her hand
a solace of ripe plums
seeming to fill the air
They taste good to her
“Winter Plum Trees”
All the PLUMMITY PLUMMITY PLUMS, OK, IS THIS ENOUGH PLUMS FOR YOU??
I MEAN, I LIKE INVENTED THE IMAGIST MOVEMENT AND ALL YOU WANT ARE PLUMS?!
TELL ME TO MAKE ICEBOX CONTENT, I WON’T DO IT BECAUSE I HAVE INTEGRITY!!
THIS IS JUST TO SAY I DARE YOU TO GIVE ME THAT NOTE, I FUCKING DARE YOU!!!
complicated details in the cold icebox.
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees