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Postmodern Village
est. 1999
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The Plant That Sat (an ode to George, c. 1991)
by Melissa Thompson

The plant that sat
The rant that mat
So flat like your brain waves
Purple sunny days
Not a cloud in sight
Have no fright, my little one
For the gun pointed at your sun
Leaves my light alone
Fright and bone, flesh and blood
Your name is mud
Your sound is thud
When you drop, drop, drop into your grave
So much to save, you bloody knave
Of Falstaff's court
Your face a raspberry torte
With a fork in the topping
After Easter, I'm left hopping
Along Cassidy, your tenacity
For that love so true, oh so blue
Oh so fake your big mistake
Of telling me what you want
Telling me what you aren't
You big stupid bush.