Hit Over Head
The local florist's sign
says: If your name is
Chad Parenteau, enter
but for unbagged clump
of same processed shit
our flowers grow in
to remind you every
photogenesis--the birth
of everything made
photogenic--was built
in the entrails of the ugly
ones, and you're too far
down in the ground
to ever see the results,
face under sensible shoes.
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