my flower

discreet cartons

carrying narcissism — in the little flowers

wasted on the mountainside

after a capital march to the utility of life

of the flower

flower that comes in a carton

and goes in my pipe

and i think of all the capital that goes into

my flower

and if i smoke away tonight 

blowing to the moon

it will grow flower petals

i’ve gotten blue rings on the moon

marry me?

take me tonight

don’t carton me up

to sell to the capital mills

all my flowers