my best poems are written in the shower (the secret meaning of flowers in history)

       The Consumption men do not know

only women really know

   To consume and be consumed

        by the world around you.

Fuck like bunnies do to make baby bunnies

  and a home among the brambles

       experience the world through and in 

   another rabbit.

Furious soft fur in a field while hawks watch.

       Wanton abandon; Death begets beauty.

Women know only children and wild dogs matter,

        also birthing babies and licking up.

             A thumb in the mouth is a truth,

             is a baton twirling in space and time.

Every flower a descendant

     of a flower my ancestors plucked.

Please hold my hand when you graze 

      the sprouting meadows

  grab me up by the scruff of my neck

           Do not worry if I cry-

     It's letting go the papercut longing

                                   I've held too long.

Wrap me up in ivy so I can't run away if I get scared.

          Hurry up, children!

Those not born in beds or on gurneys

        But born in thickets of weeds

        with seeds dried to our foreheads.

I'll kiss your seeded forehead, 

    bloom between my lips.

I am a Victorian; You are Queen Victoria.

All that I know was paved by your vision

                    You are my time! You are my culture!

        I can only be described through adjectives of you.

We are in the fields and no one not even hawks

           could catch us up.