Our sea, to rough trade cautiously approached. Pea green
and troughing, sounds like poetry. There's a license finds me

at wild anise, out this window facing one of all the hills to the
sea run. Prominent stalk to yellow promise, ordered and notified.
Able solitary laws to grow in me

excrescent, damned, never enough. Exterior to year's own
narrative, one's evolving mis-calculated hunger, or hunger's
tumor. Weed be beautiful, be beauty, dependent

simply in anticipation of youth drummed everywhere but home.
Take and use. Discriminate. As in laying.

scrape up art from surfaces unbidden. My body standing next,
compared to what a wild seed produced. I walk away


Gil Ott