Which is more alive?
Sometimes
you need to know when to fold,
when to halt the forward momentum.
The irony bleeds on blades of steel –
blooming is most profitable
when ground to a halt;
there,
in the secret places,
seeds are knit from
crisping petals,
distended ovaries,
dried husks of youth.
Once the shell of beauty is ceremoniously cracked,
rendered useless,
torn limb from limb
in ferocious labour pains,
what spills from broken caskets is
Alive and Kicking…