Planted a buttercup

When his mother died, the young busker
instead of feeling the twin towers' shadows
envelope him as they fell, planted a seed
on his mother's damp cunt and watched it grow in shallow waters.
The acid didn't kill it; protection was the culture
from which sprang the valleys and the vultures.
To pet the sun and suck on the Way, 
he sits on the tree and through his legs drops the day!

Vulgar shit, but at least I’m fondling rhyme rather than outrightly shunning it.


~ by Jeremy on October 11, 2008.

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