silk flowers they wilt too

vanity maybe who am I if not in motion this is not a meditative question never good at
the domestic I fly against reason a single cicada against a giant pane of glass on the
other side of which is dance /maybe/ or risk /maybe/ people insist I should embrace some someday equation but I’ve seen that just visited his grave as a matter of fact and the flowers are wilted not for the lack of remembering but because life is for the living not silk flowers and unpromised tomorrows

the birds sing teases
seasons change for spite
bones grind push fight