An apple goes bad in the grass;
it goes good for the grass;
it grows well for itself.
My teeth go bad in my mouth;
they go good for the economy;
my enamel is flour for an inedible loaf.
A God goes bad in the grass;
it goes good for the spirit;
grass sprouts prayerfully from the heart.
I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
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1 comment:
this has the seeds of real genius, big E.
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