Monday, August 30, 2010
What we desire
What we desire most at the flower show,
what we sniff like sex among the bleeding stems,
is the rapid, painless death of what we know.
What we seek in color we find in sound;
what we grieve in scent is a bell to wounds
and walls that crumble, yet hold fast still.
Each bouquet portrays the human race;
how well we’ve failed is a triumph blessed
by pleading blooms sustained in glass.
“What we desire” added to Poems, Slightly Used.
In the Forum: the long and short of it.