Thursday, April 23, 2009

poiēma (my brood)

once i decided to write 50 poems in 50 days. it didn't quite work out that way. but i did write an accursed share.

today i came upon those neglected infants. sloppily conceived in a single pass, yes. but who among us wasn't?

culled forth and then cast aside, each; i have never since attended them. i shall not wash from them their curd, their crud, their crude.

instead I will carve for them an orphanage and merely prostitute them there, one at a time, for your...

(consumption? appraisal? pleasure? contempt? voyeuristic viewing?)



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