This, to you, urgently. Somewhere there is a man who tried
to stop a truck with flowers. Mario was his name. Merry was he.
Somewhere a skull
paints the town red as a flower kisses
the skull of a tank.
How else can this we remedy? What to do?
I, for you,
this, as elsewhere a flower falls
from the nozzle of a rifle, as fireworks graze
a hot noon—There
its petals streak the earth,
a short spree
between the rosary palm which
lays a wilting rose against the sun
and his friends laying it on stone.