ancient history. But I will
be major. Somehow.
Somewhere down the line
you must have gotten disappointed.
“We are poets.”
Today’s flower, the bloodroot,
seems pure as the driven snow,
despite the murder its name implies.
Thomas says “Yep, quake,
kiddies all outside” and that he’ll
“feel” me in on the details later.
It warms my heart to think of you
walking around all day
without product in your hair.
