June 19, 2014 
She would be the Phoenix
she thought
the one to rise from Ashes
~~a smoke~~
she’d always loved Ashes
maybe more than Fire itself
for she was a rare
Bird
a carin’
bird of paradise
of noble callin’
planted decades since on True Love’s
own lane
Red Rose Lane
the only place she went untended…
vining for him
crying petals for him
turning leaves for him
skewered by fletched arrow
she grew wild at
Gyms
transplanting in shower of
thrown bouquet
to No. Hope
where roots rotted
and thorns rankled
and crowns tumbled Deadheads
>forced graft<
and systemic pesticides ignited
(one extra Sunny day)
catching garden stakes afire
surrounding & combusting her.
Charred.
She moves in a Dream, now
lost over Moons
wings, and petal-ed paradise
shuddering
Blooms folding unto themselves
~Leaves only~
…
no loft
no bloom
no flame.
Charron's Chatter 
Oh, so sad.
yeah…this is an intentionally obtuse poem (aren’t they all?) which imagery is relevant to me, particularly and maybe exclusively–so I am pleased you “got” the story without the (skewed?) logic. Hope your day is going great already…on the downhill slide to TGI-Friday!! 🙂
Yes, I admit your poems are very thought provoking and sometimes require more than one read through, but always of superior intelligence, wit and very entertaining.