Joy Katz
How I feel about topiary No woman holds her arms like this. A garden must come up like full-blown crows. A garden of grown-up trees and sawblades. Broken fences and maneuvers. No birdseed. No recitals. (from The Garden Room)
How I feel about topiary
No woman holds her arms like this. A garden must come up like full-blown crows. A garden of grown-up trees and sawblades. Broken fences and maneuvers. No birdseed. No recitals. (from The Garden Room)
A Desk Chair Color of the walls Paper
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© 2002 Electronic Poetry Review
