Poppies In July

Little poppies, little hell flames,

Do you do no harm?

You flicker.  I cannot touch you.

I put my hands among the flames.  Nothing

And it exhausts me to watch

Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like the skin of a mouth.

A mouth just bloodied.

Little bloody skirts!

There are fumes I cannot touch.

Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?

If I could bleed, or sleep! -If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!

Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,

Dulling and stilling.

But colorless.  Colorless.