April. Puberty sweats from the park,and the forest’s blatantly gleaming.A noose of feathered throats gripsthe wood’s larynx, a lassoed steer,netted, like a gladiatorial organ,it groans steel-piped sonatas here.Poetry! Be a Greek sponge with suckers,among green stickiness drenched,I’ll consent, by the sopping woodof a green-stained garden bench.Grow sumptuous pleats and flounces,suck up the gullies and clouds,Poetry,…

Down the porch in front of the doorway;Through my wide-open windows they come.But behind the old fence on the roadside,See, the public gardens are flooded.Like wild beasts in a den, the raincloudsSprawl about in shaggy disorder.In such weather, I dream of a volumeOn the beauties of Earth in our age,And I draw an imp of…