Seed Vomit
Yuck. Who wants
stamen in their mouth?
Frickin buds and shoots,
nodes, internodes,
then out the backside
with hairs digging deep.
Theseus’ Ship in a seed
shell, is the stringy mess
to blame for the seed’s
eruptive demise?
When the old copper
ghost town’s bank vault
has been emptied
the last time, who
keeps the tumbleweeds
from congregating
on the wooden sidewalks
like a posse waiting
for a spark—a lightning-
strike to raze the remaining
wooden skeletons
back to carbon.
Wendell’s Hat Thief, Union Square
Inspired by the video
For want of a hat
to dance to dance.
For want of a burning world
a toe-tip of chaos
a toe-flick of tip bucket.
Chemical combinations
stable until suddenly not.
So rare a kaboom where
noxious gasses have settled
time after time in denser
& denser layers. We wish
safety, where it is not sought.
Where it is shunned, punched.
A stinking duckling waddles
into a field of hippos and mud.
Feel the rhythm of their hooves.
It’s in the ground & it beats upward
ready for a charge, static, kinetic.
Electrical misfirings or chemical
interactions—the sun’s plasma roils
& there is a faint breeze & the dancing
man decked out in dirty frippery
has retrieved his gaudy hat.
The rivulet diverted from cliff
wanders along the steps of Union Square
eyes rippling with wonder.
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Zebulon Huset is a high school teacher, writer, and photographer. He won the Gulf Stream 2020 Summer Poetry Contest and his writing has appeared in Best New Poets, Rattle, Meridian, North American Review, New York Quarterly, The Southern Review, Fence, and many others. He publishes the prompt blog Notebooking Daily and edits the journal Coastal Shelf.