Friday, January 14, 2011


You can hate the dirty grass,
And no one would reproach you.

But boast and this congress will make the bitterest most of it.

Kiss less of its green, Injure your knees less.

Draw romantic bees less,
Get honey, honey, honey less.

Test humblest carnation distress...

The chop of nature will cleave your ash-colored skull--A lawn stain,
Pink with memory.

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