easter saturday, day of extremes. from the bucolic scenery of warren county, jersey, placidly sinister in its recession ravished spring dress, the forsythias like strip mall sirens mocking the sere corn stubble of fields that haven't yet paid homage to america's 180 from the athenian ideal. their tendrils beckon me to find something better
than canal st. at this hour, the fake five dollar vendors closed like day blooming jazz.
over the manhattan bridge the lights look like anemones, an inverse easter bouquet.
there's beauty in the oddest places. even myrtle ave, clinton hill, where the double parked drivers and the u-turners don't pretend
they are anything other than.
2 comments:
My dear girl, your poetry is wiry and swivels through your pensive twists. Thank you and please share more of your art!
come now...more ramblings...or poetry..or vignettes....pleeeeeasse
thanks
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