Poppies In July

 Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?

You flicker.
 I cannot touch you.

I put my hands among the flames.
 Nothing burns

And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.


A mouth just bloodied.

Little bloody skirts!

There are fumes I cannot touch.

Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep! -
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.


But colorless.
 Colorless.

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