CUE THE MACHINES
perhaps on some future blank hearted day
we will give it all up
and let the machines do our weeping for us
wait! what but why wait
already has begun the preeminence
of the marshalling of facts
the absence of singing
the lilac is a fact
it is a flower crooned the child
no longer crooned to,
heart shamed leaves cut back
peripheral data, the lilac
pruned back perfumeless now
under L
for lies, ludicrous, or U, unnecssary being
what is the point of lilacs?
it is flowers whispered the child
sentenced to the corners of classrooms in the postmodern style
wearing the dunce cap of dingy dreamers
for love of the lilac with a note sent home.
do not love. curate instead
but it's a flower
I give you my sprig of lilac
a rap on the head
the lilac child is dead.
cue the machines
weeping and weeping.
mary angela douglas 26 may 2023
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