Thursday, October 4, 2012
The Judgment Of Paris
Over the chest-high cinderblock border wall the laundry line sags with tops and towels.
In this city yard relic with rural, decrepit boughs waist-heavy with tits of green limes
unbred women unrhythmically ill-choose words, convey nothing but craving and belch.
This is the watcher view. In my hauteur, I am unwitnessed and splendid.