Sat
Dec
19
castor bean
The city deep in its winter landscape. Hawthorne St. welcomes Carrizo Gorge. Terror in the hearts of palms. Sea creatures ambushed by thickened thallus. Fruit flys catching hell for the day-trip costs. Bighorn sheep grazing on milk-vetch, quartz, and tin. Portundo and I sit and talk and comb our way though all the finest branches.
My city dips her hair in a wash of salt and I love her again. The struggles for the past that’s further and longer away. Pre-cambrian, Cambrian, Saurian, Devonion.
And no one hounds their love’s hearts in the eye of the whirlwind. And no one plants castor in the thick of tectonic plates
