what's a small girl -- anyway, brother?
brother tell me what you see in a small girl

Brother, I've seen you there,
Flexing toneless giggles

At bedroom posters hung
On bloody gaffs of laughter.

my lolita rests open, splayed to page fifteen
is fifteen a small girl? is nineteen?
i've reread the afterword, the intro, the foreword
it is hard to get started
now i know it's about language not about a little girl

I've known what you now know
From the word beginning.

Little girls are a language
Of patience, growing into women.

Lose patience too early and
Women seem only to sound

Like one tongue kissing,
An absence in the blissing.

the song remains the same and
it goes "the days of my youth" on page fifteen
and it could be robert plant barechested in leather
but it's virtuoso vladimir nabokov.
how many little girls at the door of led zeppelin?
what is a little girl, brother?

Again, you, still in the corner,
Cornered by great careers,

A vagina too tight
To push a pencil into,

And no juice for the moose
Who tramples apologies.

all the little girls of the days of my youth
are memories -- makes accounting easy for me

"lucynka" we called her out of earshot
seems pani lucyna was dainter bigger-eyed
than the milk-raised kids in her eight-grade class
she taught physics to the mesmerized

we loved the little girl so prone to blushing
even on the blitz quiz days -- we loved her, brother
we loved our lucynka past our scattering day.

Limit those seeds
To your own ditches.

I saw inertia as my nose
Straddled by a corner.