#289-128 Property of the State

raised block flower & plant bed.

  peonies, gardenias, poinsettias

plus a yellow orb slow-rising

  over an endless golden scape—

darting through uncluttered space

  cardinals, thrashes, sparrows

blue air fragrant with lavender

  washing brain matter into virtue.

if only i could pastel language

  onto a canvas of thistledown

yes, deceit comes to mind—

  .a lie. traitor. turncoat. recreant

backstabber to truth i would be

  gut-shanked a thousand times.

this is not that poem nor am i

  that poet to hold your hand

.or. erase knot-hole screams

  blood on a cement floor .or.

suicide is another form of escape

  no-no-no—but i do promise

the evil-ugly humans inflict

  to each other to their [selves]

how time is malice is death

  enflaming pupils with spite

inextinguishable if ever set free—

  forgive state poet #289-128

for not scribbling illusions

  of trickery as if timeless hell

could be captured by stanzas

  alliteration or slant rhyme—