korean spice viburnums

I’m antsy,
I’m sick of writing papers,
Of making arguments,
Of assessing,
Of having to justify my convictions,
Do I always have to come to a conclusion?
About everything?
What if I don’t have the answers you’re looking for?
What will happen then?
Will the sky fall on our heads?
Will the world crack in half?
Riddle me that.

Can’t we just consider?
And reflect?
Have a casual conversation over a cigarette?
Or maybe just bury our noses in the flowers?
And take in the sweet fragrance of spring?

Yes, that’s something I can stand by steadfastly.
Resolved:
I’d rather smell flowers.


I picked two small flowers off of a bush by the smoking canopy earlier tonight,
The chutes of the flowers are a deep pink
That gradually fade into white blossoms
I guess they’re called korean spice viburnums
Whatever the fuck that is.

The smell, is hard to describe:
“like flowers” one of my friends intelligently concluded,
“like pollen” another chimed.
“like allergies” the first decided.








no.

More like,
Honeycomb and sugar cubes
And bees
And nectarine.
Fresh,
Like ice cubes
Melting in a cool glass
Of homemade lemonade and vodka,
A fine brew.

Like korean spice viburnums, obviously.

I want to eat them.


I want to wake up to this aroma.

I wonder if I can bottle this..











I wish flowers didn’t die.
All the magnolias here have already withered away,
They were so brilliant,
But fleeting,
Only to be replaced by another,
And soon they too will die,
And then the lilacs will come.
And go.


Oh well, nothing can be permanent, I suppose.
That’s part of the beauty.
And the magic.
I’ll just have to enjoy this while it lasts.
And wait for the next batch to blossom,
And take in each wave of splendor
All summer long.