The Narrative Image

Wind racing over the waters Careening around canyon corners Ice cold waves leap with delight ...Idiot kayaker, not so much High desert mountains Try on a flimsy spring dress of sheer green Teasing again Blooming flowers witness  The grass being whipped Trembles in the shredding wind Curious clouds Sniff alien contrails As they scurry by  I don't think flowers Often experience existential dread But you never know  Before the gale Flickering like bright yellow Daylight fireflies  In a symphony of windblown grass There's no telling which baton Belongs to the conductor There's those flowers again Acting all happy And shit Shy plants looking back and away All the time nodding consent to nothing in particular  Surveying the dead and wounded At the end of the grass battle In memory of those Who dared to show their faces to the sun Hey flowers! Suck it! ...