Floral Shop Blues

  A pair, previously fallen out, attempt to reconcile in a botanical garden.

A surface-level exploration of rebellious pop culture throughout the decades.  

I’ve thrown Indian cooking spices into the bottom of my socks I place the cotton on the bottom of my feet and dangle them over an open campfire Boots once kissed and blessed, float down a salt river vowing revenge against me for ruining the integrity of the leather Once my soles and heels begin to singe, I take a deep breath and step onto the coals and dry-wood currently ablaze This is exactly how it felt when you jolted me awake, begging for something I didn’t have, or when you drove my car into a tree with my drunken figure unconscious in the backseat   The flame grows like vine up through my lower half; the sweltering smell of burn rises up into the sky, I look up with an ear-to-ear grin wondering why I did this to myself I’m not one to be played with, my nails are sharp, my mind is open, and a broken chord can trigger an alarm clock 4 hours too early Once my facial hair begins to fade, I pull a lighter out of my burning pocket I shake the fluid in the plastic and hold it up to ...