Writing on a flowered pad

(Made ostensibly from trees that had,

In their prime, equivalent flowers,

Just as florid, in their time, as ours)

With a flower-covered pen

(Its blossoms equally ungenuine,

Painted in hibiscus tints

On the pen's circumference

Laurels planted purposely, that is,

To connote the writer's high-flown status)—

An embarrassment of buds as such

Which could be seen as two too much,

As two equal arguments ajoint

Might negate the other's point,

And a second pinstriped tout

Should sponge his rival's moment out,

Such an emphasis of merchandise

Conveys a certain kind of paradise,

And one should at least try to live in

The environment that's given

And put up with, or leaven,

Even artifacts of heaven,—

So my clumsily-made kitsch is

A font, in fact, of hidden bridges—

Flamboyant as it seems to be,

Overwrought and touristy,

A stamen still emerges with a click

From its over-decorated Bic,

Flowering just as much as 

The undergrowth it touches.


September 29th, 2002

Duke's Beach, Waikiki

Redone October 20th, 2002