THE BEET
Blue
By Dan Winogradoff | Feb. 27, 2017It was a carousel, singular and safe. Catching balls and blind, It’s middle-ground: This grass is a highway billboard, prying its corporate teeth into the branded of maggots. It’s a gross pasture of slabs and breast-fed bed bugs milking from the craven nipples of those who sleep with metal eyes and slaved toes. I’d rather reign inside, under mahogany crowns, and crying fires, like a half-formed memory, because only I understand I. This grass can’t understand the known. This grass I trudge on is blue, Lightnin’ and Waters.
