We’ve been bad bloggers, so here’s a poem by the guy responsible for all the damage Split Lip has done to the economy, healthcare system, education and federal reserve.
Pills fall, sheets of rain into a burrow
of wolves. My crow mind in hiding until dogs are
put to sleep. My life, an infant pear tree,
roots mingling with deadly nightshade underground.
Berries poison the delirium further, the fruit
that left Syd Barrett in his mother’s home until 2006,
the fruit that fed Brian Wilson voices
to harmonize with melody. My mouth is always open
like my mother’s basement door. Every time
I swallow, the crow loses memory of its abductor,
the pears decay before ever ripening.
–– J. Scott Bugher