The child south of Corinth

My mother (I say this
for you too have an origin)
is profound as a hermit.
“This place is a whorehouse.”
She eulogizes Nashville
before it has yet molded
over, purged its peoples,
yielded into the dust—
it will one day
heave its borders
where the poor
worked and died,
where the rich
worked and died,
where I sat loathing
its minutes, and her—
but when I became a man—

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~ by Jeremy on June 7, 2013.

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