Afternoon Perfumery

Burnt watermelons 

perfume my afternoon. 

What good is Monday 

if not to suck the life 

out of you? 

Rain or drought, 

only sleep reigns. 

Hatred intertwines. 

Comely, 

you feel you want to die. 

Itching that etches like a harlot 

licking her dead lover's 

lavender tears. 

The day begrudgingly 

heats. With icing 

sweet as weeping water lilies. 

Weep with them. Vilify. 

Vocalize those ornery corners 

you wish were your feathers. 

Silver and blue bells your gods. 

They try to goad. 

Half of your life wasted. In grief, 

in covering up the bruises 

with lies so rotten 

they reek the stench 

of your dying bones. 

Those succulent maggots 

eating up your heart. 

Stand straight. Look up. 

The world needs no more 

injurious bouquets. 

Sing with them. 

Even when you have nothing 

to sing about.

Monday, February 20, 2012, 7:13 PM –

Tuesday, February 21, 2012, 3:19 PM

Bouquet