from ragweed to wishes (dandelions are wishweeds)

plant a family
tree on my back
yard.  rain on it.
rain on my parade.  pour raid on anthills
& hope the termights gnaw on carpenter
ant autopsies instead of your great-aunt's
oak effigy.  hope the wouldpeckers chew
on rotten roses instead of your favourite
summer sundress.  draw a ladder; build a
treehouse with your only father & ascend
to paradise.  swim through honey rivers &
drink pollen through a bendy straw.  thank
mother nature, mother earth, your mother.
repeat.  climb down its brickly branches;

find the root of the world's problems.  capture
this moment in sepia.  thanks, kodak.  capture
a jar of fireflies; paint them in pain.  capture
the white flag on my red wrists.  paint it dead.
relearn art.  relearn the colour spectrum (dead
whorange YELLow mean brute sindigo violent)
hogtie rain into a neon bow.  carefully place
it on the present.  i found no wrapping paper
in my time machine & the dollar store closed
at half past
the future

remember not to
feed the butterflies
in my stomach.   do not
let them flap their
domino-wings or hurricanes
will plague my heart.  do not
let them breed filthy maggots
inside my chest cavity.  do not
let them lay eggs in my teeth; i
let my venetian enamel decay so i
need a root canal.   drive a gondola
to the root of my family tree.  meet
me in capulet garden.  plant another
tree; call it a poetree.  plant your lips
on my cheek-soil, nourished by your
salivation precipitation.  plant a tree
again & climb its thorny limbs.  plant
a pickup line & climb my limbs.  plant
a bouquet of kisses into my heart-dirt
& climb down to my stump.  plant one
last tree & climb its willow arms until
you reach my hip's balcony.  plant your
watering hose on my unmown lawn &
climb into bedlam
with me.