dyeing roses 

at the grocery store, everything is 
what you want it to be. the apples chirp
like chickadees & the roses can be blue.
i touch their faces & picture a bathtub 
of octopuses. what i need is a new life
again & again. i burn down cities 
for blue roses. i buy vases for new boyfriends
& boyfriends for new girlfriends.
i scoop lovers up with a plastic shovel
at the sandbox. i used to want so badly 
to be a real gender but then i decided 
i'd rather be a surreal gender or a blue gender
or a gender that can be kept in a bouquet.
when was the last time someone brought you flowers?
i think i might have been 
still a girl. the blue roses are brief.
they say, "it is exactly what you think it is."
i buy as many as i can. on the drive home
my bank account is a snake nest. reach in
& see how many are left. i want to know
what it feels like to be the blue rose.
set them all around the house. 
i can not play violin but i wish i could. i could
if i were a blue rose because
a blue rose can do whatever it wants.
me, i think i am a root. a hand reaching
for the bones of ancient gay lovers. 
dirty & neccesary. grabbing on for dear life.
tomorrow i know the roses will be ghost.
their ghosts tossing petals as if this is 
a wedding. for now though, i sing to them
in my voice i dug from the soil. 

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