by Polly Conway
Author’s note: The poems in this series were created using found language from spam emails.
He called me poppet, little honey tree
gripped my willie wagtail waist
guided gray-twigged torso into an
up-bow.
pre-evaporation, I stole the drink
money from the
tackle box, and tortoise-footed
let fish lead me to water— cool strengthening
a valve in my chest opened and closed
once the doctor took a culture with a
straight-fibered swab
printed signs read biohazard zone
a valve in my chest opened and closed
I’m large grained, algae stained and
turned-in to a non-Lutheran, at best
lake organisms, underwater shoe polishers
scritch-scratching my surface
with a toothbrush
a valve in my chest opened and closed
Spent the last few days working bees with Davis, I figure in another decade or so he'll be able to take over this menagerie I'm creating. He has totally stepped it up with the bees. Last week Davis was giving the tours to the guests who came to visit the trailer at the Napa Valley Museum. He told me he wants to teach them everything he knows about bees. I'm blown at how accurate he is. Check him out.
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Posted by: Prada Outlet | 11/18/2011 at 11:36 PM