Marina Lazzara

Blue Rags
Blue Rags
by David Meltzer


        for David Meltzer

If fun spelled backwards is nuf, it must be so the Oregon breeze is a climate control on the clearcut set. If everything taught is wildeyed clover cover cropping, then micro organisms drown deep in mirrors, reflect Riff. Oscillating turkeys cross the field, gallop eternal seedlings for food and here in the timing sun mind jam is simply stretch Riff. Riff knows the Dove, builds without an edge, numbering planetary meals and emanicipating talent. Layers of having heard sights of gallop, like here, in this beginning, there most certainly was this Riff.

Again. This. You. Food. Fun. Doof. Nuf.
Uoy. Siht. Niaga. Divad. Divad. Divad.

There are no two ways about it, Water just won't leach the way you want it to and there are never enough Herbs to grow in a field this size because the world hurts. But that doesn't matter, I mean, really I'm not okay with you being not okay with me saving the world, she said. Really it's a breeze to wake the dead & shake the Usnea from its branch & slice the vein from the Kale, or the root pulled up & fork headed drowned and cut up & fork headed again.

On the blue dusk table, calendula flowers dry like rust
Brilliance is cadence     The mirrors mighty bright

I     am Aniram     Divad     as you are

Bully wince eighty pages to create      for those who bite down      bite down

Nuclear weeks of a searching destroyed
Forgetting is essential but remembering Divine

Again. This. Niaga. Siht.
Divad. Divad. Divad.


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