Flower Power

There I am

in the middle

of a battlefield

admiring a flower;

possibly the last

but that’s not why

I’m interested.

Cannon balls fly,

anger barges around,

blood vessel busting

madness hacks and chops,

mushrooms fill the sky,

spurting, burning bodies fall,

agony stink fills the gaps.

The flower trembles,

unfolds its delicate moment

and the mayhem fades

into a virtual background

while DNA and evolution

insist, despite all objections,

on making their magic.

Scene of the Crime

Putting on cotton wool

so the bones in my brain

don’t rattle.

Making bars

more comfortable

in my cell;

padding their edges,

bending them into

filigree shapes.

Digging windows

in the world wall,

            to see

if anything out

there is worth

looking at.

Framing reality

for a crime it did not

            commit,

concocting a case,

against all odds,

in defense.

Off on a technicality;

going back to visit

the scene.

Making notes,

allowing instinct to

have a say.

Jumping to conclusions,

sinking in, relaxing

            the bars,

breathing the dank

but homely smell

of a prison,

all mine to play with,

that I have just woke

up in.