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A Rotting Stump Grows Green
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a rotting stump grows green
something I don’t see
in malls
with their stale milk
walking and
blown glass
candy shops
stick-figure
hoodlums under
lights that will
never rot
electric-un-fossils
harshly shining
on
Levis and belly-buttons
orange hair
language from
plastic/chrome
lolly-pops
dripping to polished
granite from
Lucite fingers
reaching for
little cheap
silver things
eyes wide
not for passion
or surprise at
inflated alligators
in the path
a woman jumping
on spring-boots
her arms
in the airs
of a Rococo
steam bath
where do all these un-rottings
come from sans any moss
growing from stump-faces
that just might signal
a continuance of flesh
that could have the chance
to produce an heroic flower
or a magic powder
to save bleeding
or resurrect
skin?
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