...pleasure before horticulture, that your vox?
For the poet today / art administrator, hissy fits of modesty are supposed to impress, yet they seem too easily swept up or vacuumed from the floor.

A year of taxes and you’re a neo-accepter of excess, but then again you’re a pragmatist (empiricist), viewing, accordingly, being particles of pink turtlehead, coneflower, Joe-Pye weed, twinleaf, wild bergamot, beardtongue, foamflower, downy yellow violet.

Omniscience is officially sanctioned conjecture. So your modesty dissipates as the evolution of disquiet is cutthroat, a mob of arrivistes and custodians.

[for John W]