Broadbacked noon has come humbling among our wicked spires; I came trumping in, Ike's prat-boy VP, flipped the sinister death-ace on its head in Laos to a vermillioned flush, a cornucopia of flowers 5 scissored off by dear Pat for my tweed lapel. Coronated by my foreign policy's jewelled accretions,old man of the treasons, whispers stitched to whispers, I age in New Jersey; grown familiarly bland I confer my Ovaltine-sweet opinions on the mass, 10 saddled with a politician's over-zealous over-friendliness still. Whatever has happened has happened. Smooth-trunked Atwater by a humorous tumor felled; How many more must wither and lessen? Stopped at the bullet-proof pane all day, I watch 15 the dogwood whiten and the rich magnolia finish... What love cannot conquer I leave to my will. The winning children still swing back to their crooked papa at Xmas... a few bright, colored lights. I am no thin-spined De Sade, adoring thorns!"
From the collection "Contemporaries"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.