Aug 122011
This blade of land
engendered by the sun
dances round and around
like everything--
like you! exact
and supercilious
of all forms, even
flowers, for christ's
sake, bluebells
hollyhock, clover
goldenrod, sprints
of purple something
and, of course, the
wild carrot, even
the wild carrot, how
do you manage it?
Were not all things
in some measure
constructed (with
welds of cells in this
case, perhaps) you
could not overbear
them so with your
tweedling eyebrows
--agh! how
can you stand
yourself! mirrorwise--
look at it! looking
at you.  Wont you
splash, red-handed,
into it?  Won't you
break a cracker
and make it flesh?
Turn the pool to wine!
The way it stares!

Well, then, stand
there (ox/ ox/
pool) dirty and
locally misshaven you
ugly cuss!--and
get stabbed by the
rust-colored sun
increasing on the
hill's edge.

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