Not because of the leaves or the grass
But because the scent of moist tobacco makes the advent want fire and smoke and burn
Not because of Jazz but
because be bop zim zam doodle de doo wop
And then not
Because fog translates as grandma's voice
Because Arthur Conan Doyle
and sinking into soft rubber;
the nail, the screw, that thing that has bite
Not ever for vanity
ALWAYS FOR VANITY
like a pedestal above your sink
where a navy seal might take the plunge
with a plate attached to his feet
So he can stand but not swim
or take anti-depressants but not scream "Hallelujah" while on acid
That simple place
Designed like a sunken chest
So sublimely sneaky
Always distracting you with you
Or the likeness of you
or the image of you or your face or your hair or your blemishes or your scar or the lines of your untruths
Not because of Havana
Or Bahamas or Medellin
But because of the blood in the water
We paint circles around the dents in our rental car
Graft palm trees for future events
Be it wedding or landscape or asteroid
Then we fold up our tarps and introduce sun to spore once again
Or sin to spore or shin to spike or pink shank to sunk spunk
Because jazz
and because hot hot horns
peat and oil lamps and sugar
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