What Would the Flowers Say?


I don't want children fighting

in another war,

to argue about a livable wage

among rain drops shaped like inflation,

or to feel smart for predicting

I'll eventually be censored for writing a poem-

I just need to live,

yet even that has moments

terrifying as gunshots

and reminding me how many umbrellas leak,

leaving me with days,

where I want to crawl in the dirt,

bury myself, only to bloom

as a person sized flower,

but that would be crazy, wouldn't it?




Life's Cooling Fire


We're being used up,

worse than a candle burning

in the middle of the day,

only to surrender night

to the darkness,

where dreams are forgotten,

so alarm clocks can have their say,

as we let pay stubs

give us light,

like hungry flames,

refusing to learn the moths' names.