Once Before, Now Again

After hours of picking flowers with bloodied hands, only two roses remained, now resting bedside in a jar full of water. One faded pink, one white, dying in the water. They look nice sitting there, in the water, which holds tight as long as possible. But soon water will become trivial and their beauty will

gentle

the railroad line returns bridges to steel, chapels and tombstones melting easy with morning safe beneath a windmill the dodo eats scrounged berries, quiet, half expecting the lights to cut at any moment, hoping for glycerol to fall wet from the sky purely for utility, sweet, sour plums, liar, liar.