From the poet’s new collection, Application for Release from the Dream. His take on the non-toiling flowers of the field (Mt 6).

Please Don’t

tell the flowers–they think
the sun loves them.
The grass is under the same
simple-minded impression

about the rain, the fog, the dew.
And when the wind blows,
it feels so good
they lose control of themselves

and swobtoggle wildly
around, bumping accidentally into their
slender neighbors.
Forgetful little lotus-eaters,

solar-powered
hydroholics, drawing nourishment up
through stems into their
thin green skin,

high on the expensive
chemistry of mitochondrial explosion,
believing that the dirt
loves them, the night, the stars–

reaching down a little deeper
with their pale albino roots,
all Dizzy
Gillespie with the utter
sufficiency of everything.

They don’t imagine lawn
mowers, the four stomachs
of the cow, or human beings with boots
who stop to marvel

at their exquisite
flexibility and color.
The persist in their soft-headed

hallucination of happiness.
But please don’t mention it.
Not yet. Tell me
what would you possibly gain

from being right?

COMMENTS

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2 responses to “Please Don’t – Tony Hoagland”

1. honeybee says:

   10/15/2015 at 3:34 pm

   Thanks so much for posting this, Ethan. I loved the poem so much that I ordered the book.

   Reply
2. Jim McNeely says:

   10/15/2015 at 5:03 pm

   Fantastic. I love this.

   Reply