The season is ripe and the seeds take
root in the caverns of my eyes
spindling roots with secret urgency,
tying knots from hidden capillaries.
in a gesture of begging,
these still-green buds will spring for sun,
burst through skull
and I will scream.
I chew and spit the clumps of dirt
towards a ruthless summer sky.
Each season, I tear the roses free
cut myself on bladed leaves the
petals puddling at my feet the season
The air is sickly sweet.
I don’t know what to do.
This hibiscus, this jungle flame,
This cactus tower in my throat, this mountain sage
all searching in their violent quest for light.
Let me put away my tired scythe
and let the marigolds bloom
down my back