morning garden of mind
full of rotted vegetables,
new puke across the wooden slats,
an air of wieners & yeasty burps.
what a burnt bologna way
to start a day
--goopy, stinky, milked and dry--
& i'm not happy with this muck
dunked study of your tire tracks
across from the low breakers
where the buzzards slowly wheel
in search of that succulent stench.
praise be to the summer cardinal strut:
bobbing low to the left, right, fanning red tail wide,
earning chirps of assent from her, avocado ripe,
perched on the rusty fence above him.
*
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