Cut It Out

Start with telling the truth—
If that’s what you’re selling,
That’s not what you’re about.

Details, details, details
Garnish your evergreen
Beds of pine-scented lies—

Strip off blossoms of facts,
And the same bare needles
Found everywhere lie there,

Coniferous salad.
No one wants to eat that.
You want something newer,

A new dish, colorful,
Tangy orange petals,
Crimson-speckled florets

Burgeoning above
Resinous crudités—
Whatever makes you think

Your plate’s unique (it is)
And you can finish this
(You can’t). Old woods run deep.