Poison
ivy poison oak
gerunds
line breaks
DON'T SCRATCH!
the poem screws itself out of our environment like a languidly
laconic firecracker free of fuse (and what's wrong with that)?
at the beach i dry my
towel
deliberating, forging, quicksanding
into the
final
fugue
of fingers empowered to play
at what if
it rained?
what if
incredibly the drops of
SUN
glazing
my poem
were pushed to the ��������side
a bit to the������������ right
y
ing
a day at the
beachly
beats
poetry
...yet...
i blase the beach
(neither i imagine
could
DANTE
BLAKE
RANGER RICK
FRODO too)
increasingly
wallowing
in
poison oak
swangin' from uh
faux po
eh
tree
tumbl
ing into
yr OH
pen
R
Ms
yr
unguents
pro
fess
ional
ly
applied
� 2004 by john e
