May 2003 / Volume Four / Issue Two
Alice Cone
distractions from happiness

take the axe and pick, pound
  ground gone dry, settled cement,
  something flat, yielding nothing but vague
  tracks, split pictures, fractured
  images, rifts, dead
  ends depicted in limited dimensions,
re-tracing stick in dirt, scratching
stone across confirmed concrete

such busywork-
the cutting edge kept
spinning on grindstone,
perspective restricted,
nose cut off to spite
the bright reflection
of your countenance
in the light of this lens,
can't smell,
can't stop to-

oh, the roses!

the scent,
essential, pervasive,
     opening, disseminating-
      to admit, now,

  dawn, rosy
  blush of sky,
  what arises
  centered warm
  in your own aurora,
  flushing the whole
  round body, this endless
  horizon, aroma of blossom,
  white blooms strewn,
  petals spectral, all hues
  radiant and radiating-

    immeasurable radius,
    glorious
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