Leveler Poetry Journal
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Mountain Man


The love in this place

could make a person

squirm     Multi-colored

peppercorns, face painted

peacock     earlier it was

palm mutes and screaming

the boxing ring, which was

also the love     Now it’s the wine

This is for real a to-do list

The love in this place

isn’t purple, but it’s pink

burgers just the way

you like them, the table

piled high with bills and books,

a grocery bag of still wet leaves,

that Agnes collected

to make art out of trees

Saturday is nothing,

or it’s the pinnacle of sap

Once I was a mountain man,

but it may have been

this morning, I shaved

in intractable three-part

harmony     The sun

sets beautifully, and

it’s astringent, my face

full of Build-a-Bear and sparkly

plastic princess shit     How

wonderful to run

all the colors together

in holy dissonance,

which is all  and forever

and only about clashing

Why can I not do any of this

without the hops or the grapes

getting even     The love

in this place will save us

or it won’t

Matt Hart