Sunflower, I Think You Might Be Dead

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Because the water in your rattlesnake vase is hushed
Because I cannot hear your vermin taps across the kitchen floor
Because the word floret does not tempt me
Because I’m lifting the blinds
Because I’m lifting the blinds and peaking at you my Sepia Fleur—
My Sepia Fleur among the rubble on the winter soaked porch
Because I keep mistaking you for a honeycomb
Because I keep mistaking you for an abandoned wasp palace
Because for days I’ve been walking in circles inside this palace—
Death inside of my mouth, your voice a breath choking on wood pulp
Because I’ve been sleeping more and consulting the mirror less
Because it’s what I really fear, no, it’s what I really want
Because the sickly stick trees said you are.

First appeared in AEROGRAM

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