Flowers
Run through
My hair
Like water
Down a river
Passing the last elm
That’s 100 years old,
Or maybe two
I can see
The flowers
But they must not
Always be blooming–
My stem opens
And closes in viens,
Blood honey
Getting stuck
With the glucose
Of my heart
If only I were that elm,
And not just chasing
Scenery.
July 13, 2014
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