not quite right

in the slowdown of daily, I
think of spanish moss draping
over oaks in the south. think
of cacti needled and laughing
at the sand, at all the things
that cannot grow. think of
kentucky bluegrass, exotic and
unwelcome. think of a ballet
class in brooklyn, long pointed
legs in attitude. think of an
artist in some early a.m
frustration- it’s not quite
right.

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