Drawling organ learns to speak

Holds in his hand the blues.
Turning mauve as the strangle chews
through every cauterised plant
growing from his root,
the single-toed foot in the pot
of his middle, in its autumn,
as things go to autumn and turn
like his is the color of soot.
He lets it bloom in a tense slingshot
of a sensitive orchid holding bark
on the places where if it is touched
it rises once and urges much.
But, as sad nature wrote its course,
it too has only one endosperm,
one sun to aspire to, and nothing
to learn. Does its bow, crawls away
on all tingling fours until
if it spread wide enough,
it could mingle in another touch
if wind would beckon it so. Or
wind could freeze its fibers to their core
and freeze its pollen into snow.

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~ by Jeremy on October 12, 2010.

One Response to “Drawling organ learns to speak”

  1. If I turned strangle into stranger, and mention blood flow without saying blood flow, I could turn this into the most classless shit written in the last three weeks.

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