His kindergarten teacher blooms
like a crocus from the linoleum,
      and her scent unlocks the labyrinth,
      but the children roil up like magma.

      He becomes a flower at last,
full of his medical experience.
      The thunderous nightmare lights on him
      to taste his offering through its legs.

      It takes. His everything is drained
into a network of alien need,
      and rises by paired baroque organs,
      of language, invented for lying.