The Vine Wraps Itself

The vine wraps itself around my arm blades
Whitman liked to call leaves poke through
my toes Iʻve taken apart the word sedentary
and found 27 wordlings infants swaddled in neat
rectangles of paper torn from the word of the day
calendar each morning if only this were stillness
of the revolutionary steel spindle sort thoughts
ebb and flow far too much and the FedEx man
is on a first name basis if I were to tug myself
awake what then this collective uncertainty
has subsumed itself into my dreams a sign
surely that this isnʻt going away soon and the body
politic will have difficulty absorbing the impediment
although my core belief in the existence of higher
power without name without end amen lends itself
to the theory of absorption absolution by absorption
absolute with all the requisite chanting and madness
they say the first day of autumn came and went
this week which means itʻs still fall
in the vernacular my teaʻs still hot
the morning filled with tradwinds determined
to pass through and leave nothing behind
yes yes things are still open or closed
some lines some waiting the getting and spending
rich with disparities I heard a landlord
shot his tenantʻs dog to get him to leave
you wonʻt find the word leave in sedentary
but you will find rent at this point
I am looking up the name of this climbing twisting
manifestation of life force the green fuse
on fire in the crook of my elbow pushing
pulling in the name of the green tide of late
growth after the fires of summer tugging
entwining it is nature holding on to my arm
I grab a pen with my free hand grateful
for a soft kiss inside this embrace write
an awkward love poem as dawn breaks