The personality of a flower

dull leather boots paused for gravity
storming through the equator
like lost battle frogs and hymns
and marketed persuasion
where young musicians soften with age
and miracle births do not denote the passage

I am a bitter melodious villain
of scars and patters of ghost willow walls
peace cannot find an arbitrary caustic sponge
no longer do we suffer just at home
but we have exported our unkindness
to nations near and far for the last maker

On contrary trouble-stations
making our way home on ice scales
forget the clown make-up
and the forever lasting string quartet
let the trees break into the house at night
allow the bark into my dreams so soft
brittle microscopes daunting the neighbors

patch me up with Velcro waist-binding
never let them sing of miracles
not upon this Earth’s dance patio
not at the summer fair or poor-legged sout
of giving sticks and partridge gains in the silo

unmade fellow gatherers fishing off the falls
there was no voice that they could ululate attracting
no connectivity to imitate an emotive shelter
just their drinking bar-face scattered on a map
catching one fish after another after another
totem leakage laughing at the solstice mother