Monday, April 12, 2010

Some Roses

Some Roses

Some roses are scratched out,
have been deleted, rubbed away.

Some roses have been scribbled
over. The petals are smashed

beneath graphite or black marker.
Some roses have been snipped

from their stems, from their backing.
Are now lacking context, a body.

Here it is: the remaining vacancy
is petaled, is a hole so unmistakably

roselike you might push your face
into its flatness or hollows hoping

for a remainder of its fragrance.
No longer the flower, sure,

but absolutely the outline, the form.
Some roses, they are reminders.


  1. This post makes me think of what exactly is the essence of a thing. For example, if man is a featherless biped and he loses both legs in a tragic accident and he takes to wearing a feathered fedora. Is he still a man? Is a rose with no petals and no stems and maybe no fragrance still a rose? Of course. But where does the essence of a think lie? Hmmm....

  2. this makes me melancholy... but in a good way... made me think about appreciating moments and the beautiful things we have... I sound so lame a cliched, but it's true :)



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