• • •
the doctor told me
that my hunger for beauty
made me a viscous aesthete
march may be a lovely thing
a delicate purity ring on a lady's finger
and april may be the new may
but i've marked it on my calendar with a frowny face
for such inconsistency and restriction cannot be handsome or sweet
i ingest the bliss
line my insides with pollen
block my intestines with cheap perfume
i chug a bottle everyday, you know
the doctor held aloft a single clinical finger
stunting my babbling stream
and she prescribed me bright yellow tulips dipped generously in bluebird's blood
"smell the destruction deeply, once each day. waft it towards your nauseous nostrils and inhale until you pass out" she advised
my startled gasp could be heard from the waiting room
i hit the ground with no other sound than a thump
and woke up drenched in something else's blood