Saturday, January 8, 2011

Le déjeuner sur l'herbe

Chatter bloom on the edge
where mulch egg thatch collapsed.
Fetch a sedge cheese and butter bread
in a patio satchel. Birds beak wide
at metal moss stream near the hang edge orchard
scrape the dead marsh grass on a bridge fly.
I pull you en plein air on red plaid [breathe],
smell of your heart lonely, jelly egg. Dazzle
an oat bellow bride the cold of which forever pickle.
In sight you will shape, pass sea foam and kitchen
body being. I tip a blue hat and elusive
tally lull between dense laments. Bird.
Under ache of harder sun, I leg pipe darken
the blazing terse and faux drip the rinds
into the salt path [we breathe].

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