An Illustration, as in Rose goes for the kill (Stein Poem)
Rose was a lion.
She had learned to feel it.
The grass does not care to impress us.
Little specks of potential.
Why run around the matter?
All of us end up dead.
The more you see it, it empties.
Illustration: like blood.
How many things were run down.
So Rose could look proper.
But Rose was not like them.
The masters have time to kill.
She doesn’t brag about misfortune.
It’s easy to follow them down.
The grass because the grass is swollen.
Someone who’s in it;
It sure isn’t pretty.
Composed with Gnoetry 0.2 and the following texts:
Woods Hutchinson, The Child’s Day
Gertrude Stein, The World Is Round
Howard R. Garis, The Curlytops at Uncle Franks Farm