Tired
Tired face, eyes, wilting flowers.
Tired eyes.
Benevolence like plastic knives at barbecues, like some little girl with flowers in her hair, running around in the grass. Wilting flowers.
Tired eyes. Swallowing air, breathing hard panicked, gasping at the white shirt collar. And if there was an endless summer, would you want it?
Tired body like an old man, like a young man getting old. Return young man to the earth. Ashes into white roses. Wilting flowers.
The revolution. Tired rioters- panicked breaths. Who will bring them flowers?
Red eyes now, far out and hazy. Heavy smile in a dark room with some regret. Smelling the flowers and eating the fruit.
A flash of skin, whose being incomprehensible. But still a revelation and then we will sleep- heavily.
Occupations and hazards. Conditions improve, then worsen, and the air gets hot and humid, and the kids complain, and go into the air conditioning. And their kids. And the earth turns. And there are some who grip tightly because they can feel it. It.
Cold showers, tired eyes, have wept once. Lights off, barbecues out, earth held, breath soothed. Flowers.
