| GUIDELINES & CONTESTS | ART
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The maypole glistens with pig fat.
Thousands of mayflies (I call
Lovebugs) died the first hours
Against windshields, headlights,
Hoods, or sucked into the grillwork’s
Wide grin. In humid dusk,
A sheet of sex hangs & bulbous bees
Nudge mayflowers till pain runs
Into pleasure. A bounty of failures
Swells with timorous maydew & mayblob,
As if something is loved beyond mercy.
Maybirds frolic in shambles of dawn
& ignite mayweed. Sweetheart,
Can I, may I? Should I stop
Undoing these seven bone-colored
Buttons too pretty to look at?