The humor in this poem kills me: "And the plants undulating underwater, like slow, dumb trees -- for what is water if not oafish wind?"
"This is the common air that bathes the globe."
James Gendron
The wind has so many things in it!
For one thing, every leaf in the world.
Important documents torn
from the hands of their owners, flowing
into the future. Outdoor songs, contorted
by giant heaves of wind, collapsing
in the ear as gorgeous shipwrecks.
George Washington’s hair. Satan’s hair.
An historically important monkey’s hair.
The missing link! She had a sad life,
I imagine, but a very important one;
her hair blowing this way and that, asking questions.
The hair of the judge, and the hair of the ultrajudge.
This is the common hair that bathes the globe.
The smell of the jagged mint leaf and the smell
of one trillion farts pervade the atmosphere
in little windborne particles. The pyramids
my hat and the bees in the meadow.
And the plants undulating underwater,
like slow, dumb trees—for what is water
if not oafish wind? Sometimes I think the wind
is cute; then it destroys a town.
We don’t know what we’re doing down here
or how we arrived. Perhaps the wind carried us.
But how do they make electricity out of it?
How have my eyeballs grown wings and ascended to the sky?
How am I licked by every single person in the world
until I disappear?
2087
baratheonpilled
dailybridgerton
snowghoul
yousharknotpass
vaporwave