XXXII (a fountain)

A poem from my collection "Between Anorexia and I"

Fate, genius of landscape, came to plan my garden once.

I begged him to please procure a fountain that ran forever.

Anorexia we both named it, tall with marble, pearls, and glass,

Bringing forth no crystal water but nauseating brown mud.

Fate looked pleased “Waterish ones conform, yet women with clay mold paths”

Author's Note

All the poems in this collection are extended metaphors of only 5 lines. No exceptions.