I am going to ignore the alarming news
and sleep until the apocalypse.
Right now, in this dark, gentle moment
The sun is out and clouds are to the south.
The full moon is touching me.
And before you know it the rains will come back
and our laundry and lunacy will be ruined
once again.
The sunshine never lasts here–
like you.
And while I hate to use the word fail in a poem,
Who are we kidding anyway?

By Allie Buck

I can no longer write to you
you took all my words.
Counted them,
reread them and filed them away.
My vocabulary is too limited,
I use the same words over so much
that they become grimy and smell bad.
But now you have quite the
collectors edition
of my broken epics
disjointed, subluxated
dislocated
love songs
written for no one in particular
and eaten by birds.

I like the early morning
The way it looks and feels
and tastes in my mouth
before it is fully formed
and is still goopey.
There is no longer anyone to impress.
Only the mosquitos are still here.
Every fabric has forgotten its ability to get dry
And I can’t ever decide if I want to stay or go.
I am just a soft object for raindrops to
land on
This is my only purpose here.
I wouldn’t want anyone to hurt themselves.
The monsoon has talent scouted me.
It has need for my fleshy body.

Smash the scuttling doubts with a book
thick with pages of presence.
Wash their voices down the drain
with sand from your body
and oil from the polluted Earth.
Make nicely your green monsoon bed.
Turn up the volume of the storm
to drown out and drown
opinions
unasked for and unwelcome.

The sun has drowned,
gone to college
and died
But this has always been the case.
The sun has not seen the horizon for many years.
They have been separated by
wars,
pollution,
your own selfish desires
and made up needs.
But now,
now they have let you and everything else
wash away.
Tonight they meet again.
And we will watch.
How will they greet one another?
Sun arms wrapping around any part of the horizon it can reach?
Or
will it waste no time and open
with a passionate kiss
that tells more than words can ever say?
Timeless, sophisticated, classy.
I would personally like to see
a handshake
sincere, friendly
but with full power eye contact
that leaves nothing to the imagination.
Where you can feel the years of pressurized ove
almost, but not quite
bursting
in eachother’s gaze.
Truthfully, unfortunately
I didn’t bring
anything appropriate
to wear to a sun-horizon reunion.

You have eaten too much
coconut cake
and samosas.
You have become
too fat for me to carry.
So I set you down here
on this wet, mossy rock.
While it stems from my own
weakness,
I will call you a gift.
An offering.
Well endowed
and bleeding freely.
Goodnight
and good luck.