Flowers
If everyone turned all at once
to flowers
they would be large-sized
flowers with trailing whiskers.
Emaciated flies, dead beetles
would end entangled in their
hairs.
Toothpicks, surreptitiously
sprouted
would swell into turned
table-legs,
buds of cotton would burst open
into plush hearts that smelled
of fringes,
And on the mountains plaster
pillars stand
weeping spates of plaster
grapes.
Cardboard leaves would drift
upon the water,
The butterflies fall apart into
loose wings
And all the flowerbeds shrivel
up with scent
If everyone turned all at once
to flowers.
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