their coolies, their foehn wind and thorn.
their polite, embroidered nouns sown
through sockets of silence. Sewn
in violaceous threads to burlap; a mouth
with no petaled tongue to harbor thorn.
Lips basted on with a needle‘s fine thorn,
buttons of disk for eyespots are sewn.
Excesses of mauve cross my scarecrow’s looped mouth.