Golden Worms

we have been cradled to the grave, 

living beneath plastic trees,

living with gold-plated worms, 

chanting their friendship in your desperate ears,

how can you ever know what is true? 

instead, find friends born as bulbs,

planted in spring, 

so that they grow 

to reach for the sun and heat.  

find friends made of layers, 

that leave their red skin 

to decorate the floor behind their steps 

let them sting your eyes 

like onions do. 

wash your feelings out 

with salt water 

go to the ocean 

with a glass bottle in your hand

it is your bottle of emotion 

hold that bottle beneath the sand

until dirt fills your fingernails 

until your hands are calloused and raw  

until it cracks in your hand, 

leaving your ink to the underground, 

infesting your plastic life with red emotion. 

Hold that bottle beneath the sand 

until the ink rubs your bottle raw, 

glossy and green as kelp, 

sea glass, eroded by patience and trust  

turn what is sharp 

into what is beautiful 

by holding it firmly in your fist