Because all experiences are valuable.

Tuesday, July 6, 2010


I have to lay quiet sometimes
like a fallow field under last year's mown straw.
I can taste what you can only see.
Mouth full of ice frosted grapes they are fermenting to wine
and I am drunk, infused or cursed with delirium
far beyond what was advertised.
What couldn't I be sold,
I have no experience like this.

You forget I am a flower,
my bloom fragile but roots...
those I have like a dandelion taproot,
my very existence unmarketable
even somewhat unplanned.

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