I’m Late for Dull Weeds

I’m wandering in a market
All I need is some flowers
to prop up a dull dinner party

Here I lay in search
Amongst wreathes and bunches,
buckets and tape

By the squealing cougars,
There by the tape and ribbons,
Looking down into a mirror
The finest organic mirror

Stray strands off the top of her ears,
Like streaks of fancy in this whirring place
She looks up to work her trade
And I look into the framed painting

Her face is a bouquet of fresh flowers
Resting in them a pearl necklace
and the petals humming a lark’s melody

She hands me an autograph of her face
And I trot off, bespectacled with mist
Like having looked into a waterfall
To that dull dinner party

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