I lived in a dizzy world where colors were brighter and everything sang
But me— the sporadic life of stunted daisies and crushed beetles
Whose guts spilled out onto the pavement like a blackened rainbow.
I thought of ripping myself up from the bottom of my roots
But a passing gentleman reminded me I would surely die.
Now there is a woman who kneels and hushes the songs of the world—
I imagine what it might be like to swing on her ribs or dance on her eyelashes.
The gentleman passes again and warns, but I let the woman twist me up—
There is light on me, and color on me, and I miss the ground— but cannot return.
Are you still there? I ask my beetle friend. Are you? Asks the gentleman.