One Rose

a man should die gaunt,
 and not bloated and overdone,
 there should be new words hidden,
 in the shadows on his face,
 and like a wine glass, in a perfect pitch, he breaks,
 we're being dumped into order out of buckets of sea salt,
 what was the first condiment?
 but always one rose grows though a littered lot of gravel,
 or we're struck dumb and doomed when it doesn't
 flowers are how plants laugh,
 and not by joke or to ridicule,
 i never saw my parents,
 try to make a thing like me
 in time in the bathroom mirror,
 i learned to accept my body.
 i got jumped into living by a coven of midwives,
 under a dracula-caped eclipse,
 like cutting through watermelon meat with a wire,
 you shoot sick from the hip and never miss.
 all the things inside me i assume,
 are doing what they need to be doing,
 and always one rose grows though a littered lot of gravel,
 or we're struck dumb and doomed when it doesn't.
 always one rose grows though a littered lot of gravel,
 or we're struck dumb and doomed when it doesn't.
 looks like a sky for shoeing horses under.
 looks like a sky, of some kind