rising roses and ammonia

So I was just making a fairly intertextual mixtape for my cousin when I realized that a poem I wrote is imagistically in conversation with Patti Smith's "Piss Factory," even though I didn't hear the song til years after I wrote the poem. The poem from May 2006 starts:

the sticks of lilac he curls in his clutched hand
bend green where they’ve torn off the bush, wet and splintered their cells exposed
unbudded clumps, hung heavy as a bunch of grapes,
bounce between his legs
each step is light, sunlight is full of seed--

And Patti's poem goes:
I would rather smell the way boys smell--
Oh those schoolboys the way their legs flap under the desk in study hall
That odor rising roses and ammonia
And the way their dicks droop like lilacs...

Whoa! It is 7 o'clock but here it feels much later. Lots of friends to see in the next couple days. Today I took Nellie on a walk down Stagecoach the dirt all gone to red-slate mud, mud on her paws and coat mud on my boots, the sky all wide and blue, cold ground warm sunlight melting all the snow to puddles. I love the country and sometimes it surprises me how well I function away from it.