First, yellow tulips, open and enraged, petalling the thick air, their
edges frayed and unraveling.
Flayed and unraveling I want to know: what is a flower’s rage.
My rage is this.
Then, daisies wild. Flowers cut from the source seen through slowmotion
photography still thrash in their vase.
Warm wind blows through the second floor apartment. In the middle
of town. Green jewels in all the windows.
He’s killing time, can’t drive anywhere because of the smashed
As he learns to listen to the moment-symphony (wind, fan-motor,
fridge, car-doors slamming, insects
occasional bird, horn, human voice.)
Window, warm wind, windshield.