Tuesday, April 1

The Slow Death of a Sunflower Dying

born to lose )
the slowly death of a
sunflower dying
secretly on my
coffee-table & the propping
up sun it is no
good—the language
used by lovers here
ruins it terribly,

& make-up sex
can be squeezed on to
wilting leaves of fur its
(as so slowly the sunflower
dying )—pushed against
what I have not is
the sunny window
marching across streams
of thirty-quid bouquets
or a two-fifty stalks—
oh, comely, sunflower, come
grow & beam, if can you
smile in failing petals

what else shall do I for
you, slowly sunflower dying?
if water & prayers can do
nothing for as tremble
in the last temple of light
erected lovers these—place
you I behind the white
curtain & wilting die in peace
nodding your softly head
toward the clear
pane & let’s go
let’s go
plainly, on to
home & to further.

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