obnubilate

brittle green ivy clings
to purple prose
like pollen heavy posies
scent drenched to
obnubilate sense and senses
like seeing the world through
scratched rose colored lenses
the street sweepers know
to be swept up
is to be tossed aside
in the rising tide
of righteous wrongness
all the same in the throng
yesterday's flowers
sickly sweet and rotting
get sent along
and only that
frosted glass bouquet
which shines with fakery
get plucked
and polished
and the rest
laid to rest
on the rubbish heap
of history