It Is What It Is.


by T.S. Holub

I love my cactus.
I love to hold;
keep her frozen
stiff and cold

I hug her tightly
and through my heart
the prickles stab
like modern art

metal sculptures
of porcupines,
and puffer fish
with angry tines,

ferocious hedgehogs,
kitty claws,
fangs extended,
and menopause. 

Itchy rash.
The astrology

I read to day
said 5 star days!
But I’m pierced
in all those ways. 

Natural beauty
so I’m drawn
to my cactus
just like a pawn.

or like a prawn.
I want to eat
her tasty flesh,
her tender meat.

Her tender bees?
Ouch! I’m stung!
I lick her wrong
and she pokes my tongue

like a live catfish
(how it tickles
swallowed whole
with its prickles,

(but filleted
she’s soooo yummy
fried in butter,
in my tummy)). 

With random caution
and reckless care,
I can consume
my prickly pear.

Like painful pleasure;
pleasurable pain;
blissful insane.

Like wise teeth
sometimes impact us,
how I love
I love my cactus

  Copyright  2007 T.S. Holub

TS, who was born and raised in the Pacific Northwest, is an almost-intriguing blend of health conscious metrosexual and beer
red neck.  His activities of daily living include being a dad of two daughters, playing guitar, and belly breathing.  He
probably should
be on some sort of medication and should rarely be left unsupervised.

Dig T.S.'s Stuff? Here's more:  fingers    dream sequence     heart

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