Plucked and filed under… I forgot

Weird Poetry

I picked a perfect bloom

From the penumbral forest floor

Just to press it between the weeping pages

Of a journal I will likely file away (and forget)

After it is as full as a blue unshed moon —

And overflowing —

With other plucked flowers and wind-harvested words.




*** Killer of flowers! Picker of innocent blooms! ***

*** At least I am a discerning and highly selective killer of flowers. ***

2 thoughts on “Plucked and filed under… I forgot

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