Mitch Green on Sudden Denouement
Blame the damp easing lost in and out of color.
Pledge it a danger to all and castrate the panting cure
that swells all out of gusto; dead waxen grit.
Taboo are the lianas molesting the edible and transfigured
binary pulpy necrophiliacs riling creed.
Their decay is that which we overdose on.
It is like clutching your breath in frigid water,
decades deep, pronouncing gestures in silent to the unheard.
It is the portrayal of humid southern color and the half
empty animals crossing soil and sun only to become living
landmarks in roadkill country.
The sweating thermostats hang on wooden triangles of glass
in a square foot isle of the shaved and shared.
These avenues of dirt road romance feigns
roving women; sanctuary of nil.
Lay undone, unwed and undressed on
stinging rocks to become prey.
A carnivorous obstruction to mollify.
This is the humid color of summer.
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