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
