Tuesday, May 16, 2006

A child said What is this shit? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of their digestion, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Eew?

Or I guess this shit is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetarian co-op elite.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Splatting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among white folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them MFA’s, if they went to Yale.

And now it seems to me this shit is totally corrupt.

A damn fine poem. Feeling any better?
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