Do Not Eat My Grassy Flesh Buttonhole scissors in handssnipping on the tip of the leavesLike a barber with a thinning shearbehind a man on a revolving chair.Pruning the sepals in the flower base.Chopping off little stems. Thinlygrown trunk ready to fall upon the grave.Groaning. An agonizing voice heard.Do not eat my grassy flesh. my…