Liam Strong
this one. this one, hoods serrated with sun. knobs of purple, beards of moss, shriveling rot. the fruit of a tree, its eyes. just shaken from the tractor, millions of eyes. they all see the same thing. rows of themselves, onlookers, then falling. mirror sans mirror. these are roots easily relocated. the blossoms didn’t last long, a fog of butterflies. palettes of bees like lost briefcases, tiny businessmen wandering the orchard. rain, blistering heat. that’s all: blood droops its heavy neck, the wounds are clean. do not call this a ritual. do not call hands sweet with sugar a supplication. nothing stays bloody forever.
the finger a scythe,
its discourse for survival
meant only to reap.
***
Liam Strong is a queer neurodivergent cottagecore straight-edge punk writer who has earned their B.A. in writing from University of Wisconsin-Superior. They are the author of the chapbook “everyone’s left the hometown show” (Bottlecap Press, 2023). You can find their poetry and essays in Impossible Archetype and Emerald City, among several others. They are most likely gardening and listening to Bitter Truth somewhere in Northern Michigan.