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Vacant lot with pokeweed

A season's worth of gone- to-waste profusion - juiceless tufts and spindling finials, rifflings of frittered goldenrod and ragwort, seedling cottonwood and sycamore, grubstake biennial rosettes, a low- life beach-blond scruff of couchgrass - no niggling over whether whatever nutriment's afforded by this misbegotten, chain- link-fenced-in plot is even halfway decent - interglinting with the rabid dregs of things hurled down in shattering frenzies of dismember- ment: weeds do not hesitate, the wheeling rise of the ailanthus halts at nothing - and look! here's a pokeweed, sprung from seed left by some vagrant bird to seize a foothold: a magenta-girdered bower of shade, gazebo twirls of blossom rounding to raw-buttoned, gullet- crowding, rodded garnet fruit some new wayfarer perhaps may take and pass, as another season passes.

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