The Impulse to Fuck the Flower

Composition with Flowers, Odilon Redon

You can’t surpass the man-made lake,
Make the land your mannequin

Not even with luck.

As such, pathos reciprocates in non-particles,
The sky’s axis in lapis,

And my fascia elects I walk with wrecked

Reflexes on soft ground
And rocks.

(All in the master plot)

At the carnival, I’m a carnal blur, a color opera
Of impure thoughts when I rode a ride

And saw a far-off field of wildflowers
The raucous heads of which Bacchus bid me

To chop off

As debauchery docked in my inner botanist
I flocked, warfaring, to the sweet spot

Spilt lily, anemone, phlox

On the tilt-a-whirl is a body-wrought blank spot
Where I got off

In the field,
I sit unshocked, then shocked in the twilit silt.