dummy

Police want to lock me up.
They say I should take a pill.

and I confess: stealing the flowerpots
from the hallway was dramatic,
but I believed it became necessary.
So much can go on in a room with poinsettias.
A body can die or it can go on breathing.
The soul can sleep, or it can go on running.

and now if you notice: that on the table
the poinsettias beside the Gideon’s Bible
shed their bracts in a suffused light
divorcing itself from a soft place.
Heavily.
These are no green stems like the roses.

But you know the spot.
It isn’t there.

but confess: you absolutely feel
that when you recall the poinsettias
being in the room. It shouldn’t be cold.

I’m cruel, so.
They want me to take a pill.
I say the poinsettias sleep better than their fucking pill.