Culture Stain

Examine before you extract
seeds of nothing by the riverbank
in the village air
and the roads
and so on.

In the horizon, a city begins, a portable
wax poet without a patron
or fanzine.

A rosy sun sets
on a musical Monetbach lake in your eyes—
When we hold each other
you’ll ask where I came from. I’ll say
I came from this rot.
Where did I come from, you’re asking,
I mean, parents?

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