Excusing the Flowers

For now, it’s better
That I wear my hair long rather than short,
Though I attain the goals of neither.
My best days are humanitarian,
My worst murder.
I drink gasoline to wash away
The water's perfection
And water to chase away
The poison's reaction.
I am a spoke

Spinning between two cycles,
With one cloudy foot amidst the dream
And one mangled in the realities
Of street machines.
My eyes change depth from surface
To Atlantis,
Empirical math
And irreconcilable darkness.

The music I make
Is the dream I'm falling asleep to
When it is not the lion
Whose hair wakes up the sun.

To explain these oppositions
Is somehow the reason
A poem climbs to its height
And then dies,
The same way valleys
Of disintegrating bodies
Forgive the flowers
Born inside their eyes-