Scattering of flower

 
Strewn about the vase
the petals a vestige
of a gone beauty
randomly, perhaps

Gathering the withered
soft and dead dryness
the mind but wanders
in the palm of the hand

Left alone in the field or
left to wane in the house
plucked or unplucked
the flower’s sum and parts
ordered by a deeper chirality
disperse long before they were a seed
arrange long after the end of time
yet mathematically arranged
yet unordered, perhaps

By plucking its petals
one both gathers and disperses
the beauty of the flower
contained elsewhere
randomly, perhaps

 

Fragment #23

Shot down like a deer in the dark

lying dead, the wound soon a door

for dirt dwellers, bugs, birds and boars,

to feed on my dull, rancid carcass

my soul delves deep in the core.

Fragment #122

 
She is one of quick ends and violent means 
– the long game but a string of skirmishes –
– blood and brood the only option for women –
– there’s hope in honour till it vanishes –
– daggers and poisons and sharper wits
make for faster peace through perfect blitz.