Poetry

Corpse Flower Blooms in Washington

What an ill omen!

What a good omen!

 

This voodoo lily blooms

When the Bodhisattva is awakened!

When the end is nigh!

When the seed is sown!

When the coast is clear!

 

To sponge with it!

Her stench takes you to fetid human flesh in Syria.

That will take you to summer road-kill in Lapland.

That will take you to putrefied fish pickle in the Delta.

That will take you to places between his toes.

 

Floriculturists call her Deformed Dick.

She calls herself Cassandra.

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