Thursday, July 7, 2011

the blood of the flower

barefoot and in a trance, she makes her way to a field on the side of a highway. curious cars slow down to observe the young girl slowly moving along the shoulder. when she arrives at the center of the field among the flowers and broken-down, trash bags the sun is shining on purple and lavender petals and dark sacks of waste . without hesitation she spreads her shape out on top of the flowers and the garbage. her immaculate hair and tiny feet rest on the black, wrinkled bags and the buttons of her spine press against the faces of wild flowers. they find her body days later. her self-sacrifice startles the sleeping world with a realization: youth and sweetness and the blood of the flower are all sisters to the master chemist called the compost heap...
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.

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