lady your room is lousy with flowers when you kick me out that s what i ll remember me sitting here bored as a loepard in your jungle of wine bottle lamps velvet pillows the color of blood pudding and the white china flying fish from italy i forget you hearing the cut flowers sipping their liquids from assorted pots pitchers and coronation goblets like monday drunkards the milky berries bow down a local constellation toward their admirers in the tabletop mobs of eyeballs looking up are those petals of leaves you ve paried with them those green striped ovals of silver tissue the red geraniums i know friends friends they stink of armpits and the invovled maladies of autumn musky as a lovebed the morning after my nostrils prickle with nostalgia henna hags cloth of your cloth they tow old water thick as fog the roses in the toby jug gave up the ghost last night high time their yellow corsets were ready to split you snored and i heard the petals unlatch tapping and ticking like nervous fingers you should have junked them before they died daybreak discovered the bureau lid littered with chinese hands now i m stared at by chrysanthemums the size of holofernes head dipped in the same magenta as this fubsy sofa in the mirror their doubles back them up listen your tenant mice are rattling the cracker packets fine flour muffles their bird feet they whistle for joy and you doze on nose to the wall this mizzle fits me like a sad jacket how did we make it up to your attic you handed me gin in a glass bud vase we slept like stones lady what am i doing with a lung full of dust and a tongue of wood knee deep in the cold swamped by flowers 
['poetry']