sometimes a cutting from some
monocot stolon node in fertile soil
is enough to start roots
and a whole new plant
the beginning of a nursery
Whitman’s Leaves did that in my brain
and the roots dug deep into my soul
withered but still fertile
until my hair grew green
Emerson’s over-soul
become dense like sod
constantly fertilized ever since
with Pound and Eliot and Baraka
Clifton Rumi Oliver Mullen and more
and later spoken word
to this day
i stretch out like an acre
fields rich and overgrown
singing with life
and the winds’ waves across
high stalks
of lush green grass
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