Weather is weather dirt is dirt
What have we learned from the stars
We're moody today oozing fear
Dreadlocks in the gulag
A vagina on a chip
Fingernails clinging to a glacier
Did you get your tongue-lashing yet
Saturday morning garden wants to hear
How to harvest every weed you planted
How many bodies you need to feed the soil
And how to account for the radiance
Of these rainy flowers whose colors
Except for the darkness would never glow
No comments:
Post a Comment