WEBVTT

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"Purple thistle."

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"At a farm or a temple or
stadium or an auditorium,

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apparently, I am made to speak.

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My fellow mosquitoes
and bees suddenly

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quicken their applause.

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My funeral concludes briskly.

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I appreciate that something
or someone stopped me going

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on too long repeating scandals.

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Why waste myself on them having
had the better of me forever?

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No, the truth is in
the body language.

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But the poor meat
shriveled when cooked.

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What is amazing is that
near the ashes I've become,

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two lovers ply a fire higher
and higher like a good metaphor

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for the changeling come
to life under a heap

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of last twigs, rattlesnake
skin, and cactus ribs.

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Bright as bliss if
it would please."

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