By John Bartlett
Jasmine flowers Pixabay

Young men wrap themselves in flags,

and suicide on sunny days

in outdoor cafes

spreading pink mist

over soup de jour.



arching jasmine stars

explode white

perfumed hope over blue-stone walls

leading possibility by the hand

re-attaching torn limbs,

excavating coffins

from muddy graves,

allowing tears to defy gravity

run back up cheeks

and return to weeping eyes,

while candles unburn

returning the wax to bees,

– in fact

putting the whole fucking world on rewind –

then creeping softly from the room

and closing the door behind.