Trees cover her <br />in red lured by <br />the skirts in Prague. <br />There is grass that <br />grows: (while sharks mourn <br />the larks of some vermilion lips) <br />high-heels. They stir <br />waters. Birds. When <br />the turn of cars <br />stops the parting <br />of punk pink people she recalls Dad: <br /> <br />how he would curl <br />by the world's need <br />of blurbs on dark <br />skies and stars-walk <br />the park with wide open umbrellas. <br /> <br />Lesbian. Sir, <br />she's a girl lo- <br />ver. Blurts out far <br />from Father who, <br />stopped fishing. Since Fish don't talk. Awful. <br /> <br />*(a variation of the Burmese poetry form)<br /><br />Afrodita Nikolova<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/yadu/
