Infant Mortality

6 January 2015

No baby is ever as

beautiful as she is before the

ultrasound. 

---No full moon as brilliant as

when it is still New

Moon, grey

and looming like a very deep

hole in the wall:

the one every bare and barely

adolescent boy longs to sink into so his

"first time will be special."

Nothing else so cruel as a

"weatherman," the whetherman, enemy

to puppeteers who "lost"

their arms in war.

The sitting duck of Tomorrow, the

unparalleled temptress, the virgin

who will sew up skin with her tears and

ask nothing in return---

Tomorrow, with the least agency,

with no say in her fate because

everyone is innocent until proven guilty and

from down here Tomorrow

looks awfully sunny.

The most beautiful flower never the

"furthest from the path" but

furthest from the sun.

For there lives no sprout greener than

the one pushing

through the flip-side of a 

paper-like horizon, no

blossom as red---

or maybe as white---

as the one that will not bloom 'til

sunrise.

---And no flower more hideous and

reviled

than one with open petals at

noontime.