or avids, those little things in the garden, that creep
on the roses slightly. tin sprays or soapy water wet.
avids, microscopic and bleeding weep away into
corners only wishing to smell the blooms, not
not their fault the flowers curl and die. or
am i blamimg the wrong word.
david and absalom, another story.
absalom, my son, my son.
it had to be said.