Give me the 2-foot aphasic Jesus,
   I crave the lobotomy of lawn--

that beer-tale 'smatter of urbana
                                cum fescue
squirreled in amongst oaks and hydrangea.

I'll prune to the roots of my celibate
store card
           and brandish the plastic; abandon

this dog-winter ague in favor of banquets,
  the thrall of the chaminade rose.


And bathtub bisque porcelain
     Mary shall sing

                    from the depths of her tangerine grotto,


(she's blotto, you know)
the suburban rye stone queen

adored by spore lichen,
vermillion.


� 2004 by Edward J. O' Brien