Its baby stems reach up
like a witch’s broom
And grow thick hair s as thick as Like a witch’s chin
Hair, scutch, twitch,
and cough grass Once, in June, I picked a blade—
back and forth under your chin
sweet as rain,
Soft as skin.
It sent up a its bristly panicle: of seeds Fine, brittle branches
and blown away
weed weed seed,
For thousands of acres, Hell, thousands of miles—
As far as
a the devil can reach.
Tumble and panic grass
Flying Flitters and flies Flies upon its wooden broom
To where you are
To where I am
now-– It walks through my gates, It walks through my walls, Whirls through my mind—
weed weed And what is not weed weed– As simple as Separated by one word.