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


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