— with a nod to Charles Olson
yes And my ass
itches
(“What are all these thorns
on the rose?
“Good grief, cherie, don’t you know yr ass
from my elbow?”)
Try again
to hold the nut
still
(yr fist
wrapped around the
handle (greasy, yup
Who does not rip away petals
will never bear fruit
no matter the freezing rain
glazing yr weeds
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