More in black
i wondered about acorns.
...
i noticed the squirrel carcas
in the middle of wilder street
from the library window
behind me a thousand years of poets
argued about Sylvia's stove
and Ann's brand of cigarettes
below me, a young man
in a gray tweed newboy cap
painted the gazebo
above me,
rain.
by the time i left
the carcas
was a red smeer
on the asphault
i could smell the fetid
odor of rotting muscle
and blood playing with bacteria
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