on sunday poppy found faith, went
downtown looking to get in someone’s way
turned tall
turned black for you, a well-paid poppy tight as ever
purple flowers, dark seeds, opium shakes a drowsy syrup
when she moves on top of you, leaving
behind a looming scent
oakmoss resin
shed of night
the smart set

or mr. emerson, lays her poppies plentifully on the bruise
she then, a sleep inducer who leaves a mark, the
inside of my arm has been thinking, it is
uncertain where this is the same word, although
all the forms are the same
a poppet
a six-string puppet comes down dangling elevated ornaments
she a generous flourish, much better
than this papaver
milky juice like pale skin narcotic
petals four like limbs