Yesterday afternoon, I picked and ate a ripe cherry tomato from my garden. For those who shuddered at my report of an early snowstorm two weeks ago, the real news here is the unprecedented lateness of a frost. Those white shooting-stars that were bent down by the snow? They’ve put out new blossoms.
It’s hard what to know what to make of it all, but this much I can tell you: the tomato was delicious.
Deep in the weeds,
the wrong shade of red for autumn:
last ripe tomato.
in walking sleep
I attend business better
than most thinking men
but would to God I were clear
as my own money
I stand for little
from morning till night a din
to trouble but content me
strange how a new mouth
is just another wonder
a chocolate horse
carried all the way home
odd to eat it now
I made a jade city for the heart
to have a heart in
I hope to be possessed by evil
but very civilly
hope is a little doll
trimmed with ribbon
a pretty slave
buy a rabbit but like
the head of a king
never find him in a hat
where all discourse of war
where a man can command a committee
I would have my own rose
and an onion to suck
it is strange to see how jealous
of me they are
myself negligent of myself
I stop working
I shall leave myself bare
but singing
at the first sight of supper
books were my oysters
and with little money
I was content to wear a gown
indoors all day
and go out with my legs
into the cold
my stone is well-bred
serves well in any
injury or sport
and will go to bed
pretty as all the news
of war and sand
I hate haste
at a stand-still I see
where to stand
how big must be a committee
for doing nothing
one suit with his secretary
I did the best I could
how is a foul mouth to be remedied
fit for every war and after-
dinner blow-up
out with his absent truth
and his white fish-belly
big as a blemish on the night