(no subject)

[daven_callings]

There is a flower on the wall:
It sits above a catelpillar,
It emerges from darkness and among nails,
It cannot see the Rothkothian jitters and bruises,
It will never see the crouching nude with the glass half-empty,
It faces a chasm of tables and chairs,
It has no eyes,
It smells the beans,
It wants to wish,
It wonders where that elephant went to,
It hears guitars and phone calls and ventilation,
it might chuckle at the Spanish whispers by the doorway,
It cannot conceive the handwriting,
It bends in a snowy wind,
It yearns, it yearns, it yearns.