Do Not Eat My Grassy Flesh

Buttonhole scissors in hands
snipping on the tip of the leaves
Like a barber with a thinning shear
behind a man on a revolving chair.
Pruning the sepals in the flower base.
Chopping off little stems. Thinly
grown trunk ready to fall upon the grave.
Groaning. An agonizing voice heard.
Do not eat my grassy flesh. my amber
blood. Do not eat my green heart.
Surprised leaves and little buds with
coloration. Fluttered to the ground.
Decamped butterflies flying. Drenched
with rain. The oozing sap from the
root. Tears from the parted rhizome