Pain, pain, pain,

Such vibrant scents

Seated on this white plush...

Feeling sorry for myself...

and

Others who may not sit here

But instead

On

Rust nails, sharp cargo, ivory bones

And the like.

How can I do this,

And them

Not?

Suffering such intensities

As the death of their innocent

Flowers;

Germaniums, wild lilies, screeching

Snap dragons

Snapping pinkish purple necks.

I laugh.

I laugh at myself.

I laugh at myself and at anyone for

Everything and my spirit

Screams.

My punctual life runs, sprints,

Slides in effervescent

Pungency to the viscose

Halt.

And here I am, conniving show-tune youth,

Sliding from Olive and Rosemary purity

into

My red robe,

Thinking about how my flowers

Are picked prim and

Pensive.

I am filth

We are flth

We lie on snug beds

Sipping blood, searing cortex,

Vortex.

I am going to burn

Like a bush...

The flames of God will not cease