Fake

I was thinking of a poem on my way in today… I hope I get it right (damned Muse never waits for me to have a pen)

They planted a rose
Where you lied to me last
And I was glancing there
cursing the ground that you laced
with falseness like
rocks in cement
and hating myself for having believed.
But the rose peered up
wrapped around the window’s fence
And I realized
it too was the fruit of treacherousness
plastic and wire
and cut at the stem.

6/22/04 9:46 AM