Morning:
out with the petunias and poets past
the flight of bats
sadly
already
pre dawn clouds
dissipated
the early flowers of spring past
more showy
than those of mid summer
surpassed
though each day greets the exuberance
of yellow
lily and pursed butterfly
wings of white
rose: a leak of glory
into the summer’s pool
with morning came
a vision of a naked
woman split
disclosed by shed
hair
ambivalence in the hierarchy of beauty
intrigue of spoilt
innocence like
the tongue of an ant
so susceptible to sugar or bacon
fat, but joy…pleasure
is what we are made for
hardened I look
on the tumors
of the oak outside ready
to fall
1 Comments:
this sounds a bit cynical
beautiful but tinged with
a bit of melancholy
My petunias were so beautiful
now they are scraggly disgraces
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