Thursday, June 21, 2012

[fragment 3]


Her crotch was lit.
Signs on lampposts
pointed toward it,

but boys flitting
around the maypole
confused artifice and art.

Her crotch was wet
with death whose
stench filled the sidewalks

with boys who humped
the benches confused
and crying, Mother!

The mother elm in
Prospect Park is raised
on a hill so its leaves

don't spoil the ground
with affection,
the crotch of her limbs

is broken, but the limbs,
with wire supports,
are still up and open.


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