Picture—
distilled artesian
room temperature water
in a smooth
and smudgeless
blue-rimmed glass
packed tight with the severed
stems of carnations, limpid
bloodless vampires.
This is a sign
at its purest: idealized,
sacrificed in-advance
on your behalf, transferred
to your possession
without your having asked.
Perhaps
you can reckon,
but you just can't
argue with
a present like that. There, now—
do you still want it?
