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rotting benches
we don't know how to withdraw
 from this realm we subsist
 we pluck every last petal
 only to find they
 love us not.
 
 ignorance is bliss 
 a fine philosophy indeed
 until the day
 we scruntinize our funerals
 and salute.
 
 outside we all pose on our
 rotting benches
 pleading they don't fall through
 as they freeze and thaw into
 soggy complexities.
 
 only when our masquerade is mocked
 and our seats of serenity collapse
 to the injured soil we
 climax and realize
 we don't know how to stand.
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