taste the dials, color them
dead & muddied, you
recollected flesh, you
unbroken sunflower
take them to your
nothing-inked country,
you goodish person
I love your pawnbroker's
vest, your greenish silhouette
time pales never for trees,
mortal, dropping berries, tall
as a stair... you are stationed
in the undergrowth with
imaginary petals where you
pace, misused above twilight
drowsing quickly, don't drop,
with the birds, onto childish plums
you've never wanted apples so badly