Butterflower
a flower hanging;
one petal a rotten pear
another a lemon
next, a ripe mango
and an androgynous avocado,
all swelling against the white
what is left is vacant
for sap on a brush stroke,
citrus juice drained from a womb,
which is made unneat by
the artist’s raging pastels.
I'll be reading this and one other poem on April 11th
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