Poetics Poem by Jessica Warrior

Does the time matter in a poem?
Do you mind if I cut its wrists
I'm an executioner, anyway
Phone's there. Call the police

Little white flowers burned in the ashtray
And the disobedient wind could turn 'em all away
But beyond those flowers words are instinctively dead
Then why fear
Burn down the house
Let your life just melt
Let your poem know the king
And it'll get cold; it'll get cold again
I promise!
As soon as the fire's gone
You're all unliving again
Little white flowers in a bigger ashtray