I see the florist for her flowers

bereft of ideas,
I go sightseeing
just to see the breeze
and keep my heart
away from the outcast knife. 

on the boulevard,
a beautiful brown man
trims thorns from roses,
and hands them to a woman
behind him, behind a counter. 

dirty aprons, empty wine bottles,
delivering get-well-soons,
and I-love-yous
for tip or two
in a good life. 

this is where I confront my fears,
Hot Pink Alstroemeria and calla lilies, 
minutes last forever,
and then I am on my way,
in a good light. 

I’m in the mood to be a tulip,
Give my life
To the zoo cycle,
A walking (away) bag of music,
To know better but.