Every green bit grin rising from flat brown
follows the same joyful split seed eruption-
be it sullen dill or dry basil or wry cilantro,
each patience tests eager hovering potters.
A green man similar shares peculiarities burst
upward although seed is coveted mostly when
a strict hat denies erect red and blue venalities
from a joyful thrust into spread white clouds.
Is it wrong to fuck the sky?
Friday, May 25, 2012
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this is a saucy and clever poem.... great energy and images and soooo subtle.
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that last line...not what i was expecting but i want more of it!! amazing final thought. x
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