Leveler Poetry Journal
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Walking far from home, I am certain that

sushi was the idea of the cherry branch,


which, having flowered for three days,

is compelled by forces coded in the seed to


begin the parting of its fine, papery petals,

revealing what least-expected leaves will


take their place. And I, in this instant of the

dawning of the untimely death of beauty,


am suddenly a man whom the universe has

kept locked in the long, florescent tunnel


of thought, and who, suddenly released,

stumbles blinking around a corner to find


himself regarding this very branch, which

we agree, when viewed from a distance,


resembles closely the cool, dark flesh of

tuna, wrapped in seaweed, rolled in rice.

Eric Kozlik