I'm retiring

from couplets for awhile. Actually, I simply tire of them. I will think of some other form in which to place my bouquet.



Pick and Gogh


The sunflower is a victim
of her own success—

shades of the girl next door,
once good looks and sunny

dispositions preserved her
role in the spotlight.

Now she’s clichéd,
the wasted model in mass

produced t-shirts and towels
a multiple personality—

the sunflower scrabbles through days
turgid in suburban portraits,

loses sight of the path, movement
of the sun. Follows instead

plots sown, unseeded in the core
of her being, beliefs shed

black-eyed weathering, the future
pecked clean by posturing.