Poems: Weeds

 

Weeds

 

when you hug a flower

and get cornered by the petals

some of them speak of heaven,

others of fussy ruckus,

or even lawnmower blades. 

 

in the florets,

seizures of mandalas;

prototypes for archaic feathers;

pollinic atoms that prop the world

with their sexual feats.

 

deeper still,

spores become complex.

botany develops moods.

secret eggs of never-seen insects

mutter like old men bitten by december.

 

protocols start to jump around.

they haggle with beehives,

banter with knotholes.

all agog, the stalks root and leap,

while birth and death just complain.

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