let it crash / drive down and cut / the rain made the rust /
drip stuck into the great / oak and left to defy time / when
will it fall / when will the ground carry the stroke / the
hatchet in a sapling coffin / an old tree felled in a week
point / and yell / timber! watching for the bellow of the
earth / the most complete response to / a poem is cutting
out the axe / let the rain wash away / the sap will stick /
the blood and rust and dirt / the drain of letting go.
BLOCKBUSTER MOVIE ABOUT KISSING YOU IN THREE ACTS
after dalton day
i look at you, you look at me, we look away, ad infinitum until
we are motion sick from turning. every time we turn, the
smallest chirp escapes. the birds in me can hear the birds in
hummingbirds burst from my lungs and my stomach.
hummingbirds burst from your lungs and your stomach. where
there should be blood there is confetti. the hummingbirds fill
the air with their drowning wings. the birds begin to fly south.
the birds will not cease their ritual: their bursting and their
fleeing. you catch a bird of mine. all of a sudden there are no
more birds. the confetti shrivels away and patches up your
chest and my chest. somewhere, in the south, a lawn has been
overcome by hummingbirds. it begins to snow.
JUST BEING ALIVE AND SHIT
the winter hour reigns plains and forest
synchronously sinking in each step
it’s really all—just a matter of leverage,
or of carrying your momentum, or
sipping your tea with reverence
in solitude basking in the comfort.
i spent a lot of time this winter / through
drags and through snow / feeling that rush of
frost / growing on my bones / shaking
just enough to help the feeling
go lick your own wounds!
the world is still feeling for
a coniferous forest
square in the center of a repeating
pattern, a repeating, itself repeating
with the rhythm of a quilt
stitched to the sky
and the clouds evaporated
into a thicker sort of breath
Jack Bachmann is just having fun being alive. He is on Twitter @yaboi_sasquatch.