native stone
Don’t deem me a wildflower
When I’m a bevy of flavourless wallflowers
Don’t relish in my insipid laughter
When it latches onto me after every disaster
Don’t lend me your heart,
Coated with words oh-so savoury
I will simply dissemble it,
And consider it a machine
Don’t forget I’m a pitiful soul
A charitable guidebook of conformities
With my own novelties long sold
For a penny an ounce or a piece
Don’t seek me, I’ll be across and away. Even so,
You’ll find to your liking those weathered walls
Which are feathered with ink
Derived from under my skin
You’ll find it exciting,
Almost half an adventure,
And a fourth will be an impending reincarnation
Of all the shoulders that had turned cold
And all the morals I had forgone
Don’t deem me,
The eye of the forthcoming tornado
When I am nothing but a mere witness to your gores
Wallflowers occupy minds the most. 15/02/23
rotund pilot