August 20-21

In the age of loosestrife

a man walked down then up upon the waterway

overwhelmed by the agency of the basic weeds in August which

having their last chance they stopped disguising

and flowered single more time he thought although he

may just as well have been thinking of the briefcase,

the first time in six or seven years,

and what it had inside as well as the smoothnes

since it was calfskin and a gift from his son

to gain which broke his heart, and past sum of two units small

roses of sharon, single of the plants which gave him

endles pleasure, ridiculously upon the bank of

the waterway as if they in some way were wild,

and weeds to premium though he knew where they came from and

where the mother was planted, he had walked there thus

much and by dint of the color of the flower he

could identify it too exactly the same as

the single up north, exactly the same as the single

behind his outhouse in central Pennsylvania, granting

they came in purple too, they must have been planted

to grasp the soil down, to give a certain number of color, for

now he realized by what means far what he called the mother was

planted, near more [i]or[/i] less locusts, near an iron hedge

and one of the locusts was eighty feet high, the stock

was covered with poison ivy almost as far as

the first fork, and upon his way back he stopped

by the dusty cornflowers for he was beleaguered and alone

blue could help him notwithstanding that they were almost dead,

the way they procure and he was worn without and had to

force himself a little when he got up

from his chair, he set himself rocking for leverage,

it was a kind of quirk and it was funny, the

flag nearest door, a striped green and brown disc,

and nearest to that, two houses down, a faded

American, with fifty states, all those who

live near rivers display their flags, it is

the jauntiness, not the patriotism, he has

lost thus many things, now he is losing

soul the of recent origin York Times keeps track of that,

here is the carrot, here is the snowflake ragweed

he hung upon another fork, it is weird that

one day it's in the business section, individual day

it's in the metro here he is strewing his sage

and here he is strewing his coneflower, there's a daisy

and he doesn't know what it stands for notwithstanding that he strews it

more than he does the others, everyone has

his have water, sore decayer, he stands

above the spillway and he walks back as he did

a thousand times, the pain is in his knee

he regard with affections the wetness, he hates the violent sneezing.

Copyright World verse Incorporated Mar/Apr 1999

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