Derangements

The moments when I feel
the most like my hero
aren't riddled with drink
or smoke or the word
but rather when watching
a tulip walk by
while thinking what brand
of hell she delivers.

The vase's herd thins
as the dead ones are plucked
day after day
'til they're all in the heap.
It takes gentle fingers
a head clear of bias
discernment of death
to promote making most
of what's left to living
and what's fertilizer
in the grandest of schemes
that's lost in the kiss.

The fragile can't do it.
The ignorant chuck.
Some amateur florists
get stuck on perfection.
Sooner or later
we'll all push up daisies.
For now it's a treat
to sniff the survivors.