_             _ Star thistle, milk vetch,
crooked salt licks by
_                     _the fence posts. Silk-

_             _ worms levitate: a maze
-like splendor over
_                     _slender grasses. Black

_             _ flies testing the horse
pond. Buckled shards
_                     _of the lightning-struck

_             _ tree limbs metastasize
fodder for the lobster
_                     _mushrooms. This late

_             _ spring day flesh has been
invented for. Now every
_                     _clover along the lawn’s

_             _ its own thick centerfold
in a honeybee magazine.
_                     _Tick season; barb wire.

_             _ This carbuncle of cow
knuckle. Muck slough.
_                     _Chicken bones. Cracked

_             _ robins’ eggs; nest stuff.
Old beaters on cement
_                     _blocks. Liquor bottles

_             _ smashed on blacktop.
I’ll cop to the lewd and
_                     _ugly in it. More brownish

_             _ precipitates that darken
down the river’s scum
_                     _sumptuous with phosphates.

_             _ Dead roots. Good taste
should not be wasted
_                     _making art. Just step out

_             _ of the way, and beauty
does its thing. It might care
_                     _less who sticks around.