picking black caps
LYN LIFSHIN
buckets clanging on suede
around your waist
like the quiet when
people make up their
minds not to fight
but really want to
we walk up the travel
road in baggy pants nothing
seems possible the bags
are so big and the thorns,
the poison ivy we get
stoned on the berries tho
kneeling in the sun then
in shade reach over
barbed wire as if that
purple was something
good inside us