rhizome thinning

Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | No Fandom

Gen | for mckeemckool | 369 words | 2025-08-13 | Personal Poetry

Personal Growth, Lack Thereof, Gardening

i shall be so moved and unreplanted, ever onward mulch-ed over.

the earth is long, for a spinning planet
and i, not long for this world, do spin

i shall be so moved, if so unproved
unimproved and unprogressing

for a soul is like a symbol, and i don't like what this one says
i don't like reading these supercilious tealeaves of synchrony

i don't like to be bombarded with undue coincidence
stars up there twinkling to conceit my demise

because i'm down here, drowning, lowing my lowest
digging in the dirt for apostrophe

but i keep on finding another layer of fabric
something quiet and ragged to couch my ephize

if all life is only just simply symbolic
then what am i standing for, under the sun?

i'll sit beneath the sear-hot razor
and i'll wait for my roots to be cut right off

we have to clear out the olden growth
make way for the new wave, bulbous and blooming

trimmed so neat, an acceptable level of fitness
like such a fine haircut, salubri-consciuy

and i hate that you could call it so poetic
as if i could be anything but rhyming pathetic

maybe if i were gaunted, not so much as vaunted
i could see a success in the somehow of being thinned

success so worthy, unwieldy, like scurvy
citrus sour, and smile, and suck it up, and move on

all around me are my failures, strung up high on laundry line
unable to swivel, to socket, to pivot, i must watch the kite

i gave up flying, long ago, knowing that i lacked wings
whether clipped or buried, unsullied and unhurried

and i'm stubborn, stuck-through, huddled by the window
a polish-gated window, fenetre's folsom filigree

i wish to see my fingers all endecora in tremors
that i could love this life so much, and excise it with glee

while others dance as if to destine, frolic in a clearing
free of all that i have ever enslaved myself to design

but as it is, i shiver thrice; make chatter once if ever twice
cross crissing legs and make to shut my ever-closing open

long world, long roots, long wretchedness
i beat my brow and shove-all this

i am earthus rotted plant, and i shall last forever.