~Smashed opened watermelons
green wax turns into venom
pickaxes to swollen sap~
~Feverish adolescence
no hunger for trespass
slow-baking effervescence~
~Lacquered pips in darkest ink
and a coral fleshy bloom
drumming into plumes of zinc~
~Flowers into reddish flesh
and a compass to nowhere;
as the earth oozes its rage~
~A thousand globes rolling
like fugitives sobbing
into the clay of Pompeii~
~Naked trees raking the skies
fishtailing the thirsty ground
once so green; yellow crumble~
~Yield a sword to lull all fear
cherish bruised watermelons
instead of cloying weapons~
“Yield a sword to lull all fear
cherish bruised watermelons
instead of cloying weapons” I feel the patriarchy going down in this one perfect expression. 🙏
Who knew there was so much energy in watermelons!? "slow-baking effervescence" "fugitives sobbing into the clay of Pompeii" So many wonderful lines, Mya.