flowerbeds are a rotten place.

[spokenoh]

flowerbeds are a rotten place for roses
to grow. they become graves for petty
wishes and partial thoughts, nurtured
seeds churned into nutshells and the
cowbells in the distance, under willow
trees and billowed leaves, remind me
of fragrant petals now descending.

eventually the parkbenches will decay,
in the hurried rush of fate. we will not
be around long enough to know what
happens to swingsets when there's no
one who wants to play on them, what
will happen to us when there's not a
warm breath to spread onto the store
window - when we sell our lungs to

the coal mines and chalk-dust. who will
pull the knots in our shoelaces when
we're too tired to stand barefoot and
out of place - in case this is false hope

to grace the prairie wind with the velvet
smoke of our habits and rummage through
the earth's starving veins before it's
time to uproot. somedays I know it to
be true, the heart of fortitude rustled
in the comfort of the shortest afternoon.

somedays I know I am not alone, I saw
a rose that looked to me in a blind way
saying we'll be born from aspirations
that never bloomed. I know I am not alone
when somedays I think of choosing to
live until all the red in my stomach seeps
into the soil and not another flower will grow.

[abiona]

The first thought I had after reading this had something to do with redefining the idea of stopping to smell the roses and the stagnation that follows when one agrees to remain potted and planted.

I'm interested in why you chose to break lines and stanzas where you did because I can tell it was done with deliberateness although in some places it felt unnatural.

I always enjoy your writing because it's on a different level from most. There's a classic feel to your writing in this and in others - a universality to it that doesn't feel detached as sometimes pieces related to this concept tend to feel. Can't say this is one of my favorites from you, but I did enjoy the craftsmanship of it and I do appreciate the timelessness of your words.