This is a poem about grass, weird huh?
grass green of your fading lawns.
Used to be we fell down, hurtled down
the green, before the greens-so flat
that the wind skated off. The sport
of it, hot sex sweat ecstasy-now just another
story, "Where's the weirdest place you...."
Then rolling in it, the green fast stupid
stumbling and beer and beer-
I smoked it, my trigger finger right on
right on target. The sign says now
Do Not Walk On The Grass, but I tarry
seeing your sweaty face startling green
eyes so intent on seminal suicide, but your
eyes were never grass green (I finally
yell from my sucking swamp of a sand trap)
they were always blue. My fault for
forgetting the sky. Trudging up it, rolling
in it.
© 2006 Anne Westlund
Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 719 times
Written on 2006-10-08 at 04:14
Tags Humour
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
Grass
Trudging up it, rolling in it, the green grass,grass green of your fading lawns.
Used to be we fell down, hurtled down
the green, before the greens-so flat
that the wind skated off. The sport
of it, hot sex sweat ecstasy-now just another
story, "Where's the weirdest place you...."
Then rolling in it, the green fast stupid
stumbling and beer and beer-
I smoked it, my trigger finger right on
right on target. The sign says now
Do Not Walk On The Grass, but I tarry
seeing your sweaty face startling green
eyes so intent on seminal suicide, but your
eyes were never grass green (I finally
yell from my sucking swamp of a sand trap)
they were always blue. My fault for
forgetting the sky. Trudging up it, rolling
in it.
© 2006 Anne Westlund
Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 719 times
Written on 2006-10-08 at 04:14
Tags Humour
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Edna Sweetlove |
