Endless Lawn I

Never stops growing, does it?

I found this pixel art online. It was created by an artist called werer stritchy. I couldn’t find any more of their work to create a link.

Dave and I were having fun coming up with album titles a few years ago. Two of our favorites were Nation of Daddies and The Endless Lawn (or just Endless Lawn). We might still use these at some point, but for now I’m stealing the latter for a group of poems. I’ll be posting these poems throughout the summer. They will focus on the theme of yard work. They might even transcend into some lofty bullshit. Writing these poems helps me cool off after being in the sun.

This first one was written last year:

Now So Fine

Touching my arms

here, my wrists

there, like a gentle lover;

its desire apparent

in the wet hickeys

left along the backs

and fronts of my legs.

I won’t touch them.

I shouldn’t touch them.

Will I touch them?

I know the memory

of summer will be sweet,

and I will forget

my desire to scratch

and spread the ooze;

so that in time

the blisters will close

doze, forfeit throes,

and know some lasting relief

in place of immediate

satiation that seems

now so fine.

T. Evans, September 2020