for everything which is yes

Luminescent blondes,
these fully-clothed stalks of corn
eye the stormy skies.

The storm clouds were dark;
the line of trees, darker still.
And yet we walked on.

The man in the moon,
mouth agape, eyes frozen, lets
loose a silent scream.

Bubble gum must be
chewed within before bubbles
can blossom without.

Unkempt, with curly
hair and chalk stains, he tilled my
mind and–thus–groomed me.

Twelve American
flags wave in the wind on the
roof of the Citgo.

He threw a question
into the air. It lingered
and dropped fast, uncaught.