Lady’s new poem (maybe not finished she sez):
And this morning I am the uterus supporting a placenta attached to a castle in the ether in which sets the nodding crown consternating jewels of tildes and asterisks and beating itself with willow branches.
I am ground talking about itself. I used to think I was grown but I was ground up into this fecund habitat like a good virgin burger.
I can’t complain for the dog and the cat shoot over the cultivated hills like two minnows or the commentary of passing clouds and Liberty runs through the garden, Queen of Nature. Grandma sheds golden coruscations through the mirror’s plasma like the insight of a sparkling veil. Grandpa’s thunder rumbles in the distance.
The Goddess is in the poison ivy again; she so loves her garden for isn’t it bedecking of her feet on the plush flock of moss, her taut arm curling its oval finger to smell the hibiscus’s hymn? Her nose is Mona Lisa. Her mouth is Uma Thurman. Her partner documents the copious comings and goings of seasonal crops.