this condition we're in might be decorative
elsewhere. in sight & yet out of context.
a mantel to your fantasy. the bow
in each miniature debutant's hair.
all some people want
is something so simple.
the pony for the small coil
of her ride. the penny
loafers for their sheen. two
royal dollops, a curtsy, a
twirl. it makes me sick.
smothered in petals the scent
of potpourri. false petals refusing
to fall. refusing their love-me/love-me
-not. excuse me this chambray tie
this cummerbund, these plain chops,
these dull lips. I’ve no guilt for gild's sake.
perhaps a teaspoon
exhibitionist. a ballerina twisting
under some witch’s spell. I’m sure
it makes you sick
to see me now. yes,
even the honeybees dodge
each wilted hyacinth, the buried cock’s
comb, & blackened bloodroot.
yes, even the honeybees turn their cheeks.
are off to fresher buds. & yes, perhaps
it stung. but no, I said nothing
of their stingers. the stinger
has nothing to do with it.