Why do they kill the flowers
    whose dreams float above delicate skin petals
        Turning the scorching sun

into a sweet nectar blossom?

To satisfy the darkened green blades?

Maybe it’s in fear that what is different
     will disturb the ambiance of repetition
  distracting from expectation
or perhaps, the influence of what is beautiful

If morning glories painted themselves green
     blending. Careful not to disrupt.
Hiding in shadows. Careful not to distract.
But I guess even then, they would be sliced into mulch

But once, I saw a field.
     Where the flowers and grasses
            grew wild.
                  like a dancing Monet.
Before they came to rototill them too…