Dropping the Fragrant Rest Bomb - A Seasonal Request


I have no desire to produce in snow

Comforted in my warmest envelope

My sisters I remember all

the suns

under which we’re born

soft-boned

fighting fierce for our poems

You know blossom isn’t delicate and

has no place on running belts

will wilt in silicone temples

Take a belt to yourselves

 

you mirrorless Chirons who

screw our vital signs

into so-called big balls


No wonder fast noise tears

our sacred skins

You know we oceans

are sick of shuddering