Today's poem is by Karla Myn Khine

Communiqué, or Trying to Find the Right Words to Describe an Inflorescence in Fluorescence
        To Corporal Corporeal, and to all those with a body and a name,

Reports have come in of a meadowlark in the throes of matricide in Massachusetts.

High up in the scarlet leaves, about to pass the knife through, the meadowlark takes a breath, looks
at their murder-weapon-clutching wing fluttering above, suspended danger, thinking hardships of
their birth.

A clutch of eggs, 5-6 in count, over half mother's body mass.

No one tells baby all the things that came together to give them life, that even if one newspaper was
reprinted, seven wouldn't have eight nine.

So the knife has dropped, scouts report, stabbed down below, by near-fraying roots' penumbra,
taking place among cobalt and salt-gray autumn blooms of which a faint glow exudes— ~{ * }~

The blooms are no man's land, so stray away, operatives. Peony peons are of no concern to us.
They're a Groucho mustache on the real problem: punditocracy,
for who decided that pectorals are PPE?

Reminder: you are always naked to yourself.

Don't be a patsy to bodily propaganda of the 22nd century.

There is no precursor for existence other than what you are is now.

Copyright © 2024 Karla Myn Khine All rights reserved
from ANMLY
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission