Green Men
Have you ever noticed that tree-buds
look like those diseased pustules you
sometimes see hanging from old men's faces
I wonder, if a person got old enough
would those pustules burst forth
into blossoms of bright exuberance
to liven their grotesquery to something sublime
God is a patient gardener
This is a poem I'm particularly not psyched about. It seems clear that there's something interesting at work in it, but the conceit is too plainly revealed and some of the language is repetitive. Pustules in particular does not bear repeating. After long discussion with Cathy there're a couple easily implemented first changes.
Green Men
Have you ever noticed that tree-buds
look like those diseased pustules you
sometimes see hanging from old men's faces
Long years and slow glances have yet to
unveil the fruits of their ripening
God is a patient gardener
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