Lanny Quarles

A System For Burying Orbs.

It poems
some trees.
It moves back
to allow the Mexican painter
to give an estimate.

Peach palm.

It poems.
Do you think they might have
had a real three-headed dog
at Baia?

Redwood gold.

It poems
these trees.
I remember
a legless man’s
urine bag
visible
while he played craps
in the street
with a child and a cop

Yucca.

It poems.
To the dearest Eucalyptus
whose stems are the eros
of legs and necks
and letters bred for beckoning.

It poems.
All its loves of that kind
early
and forgotten
and remembered not as trees
but some
poems.

It trees.

Cadmium glides
down onto a leveraged edge.
The barques cluster
in a grove of two shores

thick with templates
the wind mammals
take the surface
of the grasses.

 
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