Satellite

I love this book of poems by Matthew Rohrer. I like the mix of surreal, conversational and lyrical that he always pulls off so well.

YES

I ate a Morning Glory and turned
yellow on the inside. The garden smelled
like quince, pungent quince, ringed
with white stones. There was a yellow light
on in my insides but it couldn't come out,
not through my waxy ears
or the slit in my underwear.
I balked. I ate a Poppy, which symbolizes artfulness
but also sleepiness
and forgetting
and I fell supine below the quince, among
the jettisoned quince. In this state
I was hyper-sensitized.
I was the planet's nipple and let me tell you:
there was no love anywhere except my own.

And my mind was a tabula rasa, I think.

(the line breaks got fucked up with the image...)