Born Late



A block of soap carved to look like Pan


and that’s just what came in the mail


a volcano under those flip flops


kisses spilling off the water-wheel


Green becomes a stillness leftover in the late-born effluence

of a decade’s worth of smoke and flat beer


(I can’t get any air)


because there was no acoustic guitar


just dust scraped off an anxious moth’s wings




David Dodd Lee (USA, 1959 -), from The Nervous Filaments, Four Way Books, 2010


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