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By Marcus Dwemer

I was in a swamp one day,

And I found a gurgling tree.

When it stopped gurgling and noticed me,

This is what it said:

“The table shook

I can do better

than this

and shambled

to the kitchen

to the scene

of the crime

I was green

I put my sneaker

down, little shoe

I felt the cold

metal tap

my calf

The phone rings

It’s my sister

blamm I dropped

a plate. Sorry.

Now the clouds slide 

by afraid, awake

my feet are cold

but I’m fearless

Once the renegade flesh was gone

fall air lay against my face

sharp and blue as a needle

but the rain fell through October   

and death lay    a condemnation

within my blood.

The smell of your neck in August   

a fine gold wire bejeweling war   

all the rest lies

illusive as a farmhouse

on the other side of a valley

vanishing in the afternoon.

Day three    day four day ten

the seventh step

a veiled door leading to my golden anniversary   

flameproofed free-paper shredded

in the teeth of a pillaging dog

never to dream of spiders

and when they turned the hoses upon me

a burst of light.

I am the tree of Taurus,

And I welcome you to this swamp.

Before you go, let me

Tell you some poetry.

You can relay it to the world.”

“how do you know I am a poet?” I asked.

The tree responded “I know many things.

But the way you dress makes it obvious.

I deliver pop tarts They are taller Than me Black jackets Exotic animals I don't want to dream anymore If the scorpions are still on the floor

One minute, he's passing out candy to the local children and within an hour he's fingering his M4, spitting lead at hostiles, dialed into killing them.

The marching cries of dark armies, the lambs breath halted by plumes of smoke and walls of flame

Ascend to the next plane, for this one has been scorched by hatred and malice, creatures of dread and pestilence rise from the bloody mud

Take me down  The leaves grow upside down  Where the breathe leaves a puff  The drinks soothe me  And my scattering mind is at ease 

Down in New Orleans  The ghosts and queens of spirits that fill the shadow Stand by and you will see: swamplands where the spirits will rise 

Listen as the willow weeps its blues on to your shoulder The humidity sweat drips on your head as a droplet of chaos  The buzzing as a shock in silence of noise to distract the pain 

Get me on my stomach and rub your stubble-like brambles against my cheek breathe your humid heated desires on the backs of my ears and into my coal entangle your feet in mine verbalize but don’t make much more than senseless noise, drag it out  sloooow Grind that ribcage into me As you make sweet, sweet silent passion into me Dont get too comfortable so long as you're entwined just as me Reel me a little further Pull me back  don’t play too hard you should know well it's who we are I'm more useful when I'm not besot by the torment of not getting to feel the things that make me fall Tangibles of your love, the winnings of our games.

your vulnerability is my sentimental call let your head spiral down my silhouette, hungrily lay bare your tenderness so I can sip, you can maul untilll we fall to primitive tendency lap my primordial waters with your lulled tongue lolling up in the cosmos like our heroic sun we know that we’re one.

How do you like it?

I am a good tree, right?

When my height is matched only by my age, the sage told me, 'that I will have found an ecstasy so rare, that no one will ever, have ever been there. I count the rings as if I am a tree but ecstasy eludes me, as I knew it would.

I could have counted grains of sand and after, started on the rice or carved upon a cuckoos egg, something very nice, just to let the cuckoo know, that we know why she builds no nest.

out of secrets hear... him cry  it’s not the newness... of the night  it’s tha armies... of who’s right  and the fallen... taking flight  out a slammed door hit the cold floor his bird’s engine roars  down a blue street ...clenched fists.. leather seat dress in soaked swirl ...just a little girl  he takes a fast turn.. all his world was her where’s this hate, from better dead than numb?”

so I wrote down his words, and brought them back to you.

Enjoy this story, I don’t know if I will write anymore.

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