After the Aftermath (stream of consciousness writing 11)

Solitary
In this
The end
Of scattering
Ashes
The end
Of eating them
As part
Of a well-balanced
Breakfast
The dosage turned
Up
My receptacles
Aware
My neurons
Warm
A synapse
Fired
A bloody start
To an age
24
That will end
With this:
A solitary flower-
Wild, common, ordinary-
Most beautiful
In a field
Where the house
My father
Built for my mother
And his four sons
To dwell
To rest
Although it didn't seem
So at the time
We were learning to fly
By watching the airplanes
Overhead
Landing
Fueling
Taking off again
Some blew up
Over an ocean
Some ran
into buildings
Some lost
Without reason
In the Bermuda Triangle
Some house my ghost
The rim of the earth
Spun
By the hydraulics
The axis tilted
And the floodgates
Torn open
All the preparation
Voided
Because
Our hands
Should have been pulled
Out from our deep
Deep pockets
And raised high
Long ago
When a single wild flower
Common and ordinary
Was still something
To smile about