In the green plant taste,
so tart and thin and dry,
which makes for velvety tongues
and toadstool faces;
in the green,
a lamented sadness;
in the sharp soggy green
is a narrator
who speaks in outdoor voices.
The thick green man
spoke in his outdoors’ voice
as she played the violin;
in the green,
she played unripe betrayal
evening, dusk, and dawn.
In piles of powder green papers,
damp and peeling pieces,
soft silks falling,
disarray,
a forest stationary,
she played the dead plant song.
In the green,
lives a permanent poverty.
In the green room,
said the narrator voices,
violin girl lay
weeping and rotting.
In the green,
said the narrator slowly,
are many sad stories.
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Submission Name: The Green Room
