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…