• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 03
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Evening Pineapples

seventeen steps, precariously—
from our Trabant to kiss the rusty gate
of our juicy summer joy stretching
across the horizon, buzzing our vision

gentle hills impregnated with thorny leaves
impressing homebound seagulls with
displays of disarray and order,
kneaded into a dough of botanical greenery

    hey! wait up for me—
trudging the contours of the landscape
swissarmy knife in hand, i slice
and slice and slice and slice
the thorns away and created pineapples

palms outstretched, you asked for more
slice by slice by slice
on top of the hill
watching cars drive into the sun