departure
when i leave, ducks stay dead,
while mothers commit suicide
with elegant spatulas
and machines of reproduction.
a simpleton once told me
about a simpleton
who once told him
about a simpleton
who knew he was
a simpleton but
had fifty cents
to share with the grass.
i took those two quarters
and called my apartment.
i wasn't there but i left a message
for when i'd get back, saying,
in plainest english:
you, sir african hero,
must celebrate the gall of love
to transform cacti into cacti,
boys into girls,
power into gall. if you
are still alive - call mother.
she forgot
how to love you.
3.28.99
|
