when I grow up I want to be a hermit kingdom
or one of Nabokov’s butterflies
trapped, netted. nettled
tea tastes like weeds but really
though, why do we differentiate
between the plants we put in the garden
and the ones we don’t? burn them
autumn leaves in a pile
and crucify your darlings, your wish lists
curated to the point
where they become dream lists
whose continuity relies on ignorance
misguided, ICBMs popping off
like mixing aspartame soda & gum
arabic based candy. ghost riding
a saola into the sunset
to prove we’re trash
people who don’t care about tomorrow.