tagNon-Erotic PoetryVariations on a theme by Niedecker

Variations on a theme by Niedecker



The handle of my moon

was blue. Think the pail
might have been granite.

Not enough to get me thru.


The iron sunflowers

at the front of my yard
died. The price of scrap

turned me blue.


The hair of corn is high.

I never paid attention
to the length of the grasses

sniffing at my feet.


Crows ca-caw in perfect

dactyls from the clothesline.
They stab me. My wounds

are blue. Too big to carry me

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