January 17th, 2004

bear by san

Not a haiku

For some reason--perhaps idle conversation with leahbobet and buymeaclue and katallen about juvenilia--I'm moved to dust off some of the Poetry, Which I Don't Write Any More Because I Have Nothing To Say, and which I have never really had much drive to publish.

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And a little something for everybody back East:

What the hell! -

It's all rot

And it stinks, but

I grub it in anyway

Bruised fruit, discarded peeling

Rank flesh and worm-riddled meat.

Nursing a blister,

Dig deep, and let it rot.

Turn, till, compost, wait...

Let it freeze until time for planting:

Let it rot.


Say it like an incantation:

Spring will come,

Spring will come,

Spring will come.



I never did manage to write a vilanelle.
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