II.
What a lovely night for a sadness
Funeral dirges which make a brave girl wail
Rain shouldn't be so slick sometimes
Rewrite, rip the roses, red and loose
Human curly lips, when quite unfolded
green stick'd, good enough to eat
good enough for me, for anyone dead
Good enough for any ballplayer nearby.
III.
Old sad men in day-glo beds
He mumbles but no one is there forever
His eternity slips out sometime between 9 and 10
No one pulls up the sheets of his discomfort
And so, discomforted, he dies unasleep
Honestly he dies, but none mourn him
or the fresher roses by his bed
clipped, servicable, useless, alone.
Flowers nor humans ever had it so good.