The
Gardener's Dream (V1 Circa 2005; originally a song)
The gardener’s dream
of the fall of the seems
so he cussed and he quacked and he clawed
forming
the sides
of his arbor rose vines
are all coming about at the end
he
staggers and struts
to the fall of the clutch
and the sparkling jigs of the law
and
he saw that his love
was not common enough
as he drove through the bark with his saw
and
exposed his own teeth
as if dying to meet
some poor young peach in his jaw
going
inside
with the gauze in his eyes
the paraffin covering his nose
the
mother is drunk
the father was dumb
and sullenly walking his dog
the
cast in his dream
was darling and seen
as it dangled from the yarn
some
tudor bled
blue stead of red
we will fall like the guards at the wall
the
gardener dreams
as he bends to sow seeds
as if despondent to nothing at all
exposing
the tread
of his dying regret
his cufflinks, his collar, his cars
his
dying disease
that crept like a fever
and tore at his flesh like a dog
pulled
from his teeth
the strands of the meat
he might trade for some peach in his jaw
mauling
his flesh
as it sweets and it sweats
it perfumes and busts in his tongue
exposes
the love
of some flecked dove
in the forest arriving in song
some
darling flecked dove
only wanted to be young
shed her breath and her wealth and her awe
this
fell from his head
as a misconception of death
cause his youth wasn't anything at all
waiting
for love
to be common enough
is like draining the sea of its brine
holding
his head
marking where he wept
he stares with his dark set in eyes
folding
the speech
that quietly preached
to strengthen the source of the seems
call
his own faith
a common mistake
as to paint his own picture of law
expresses
the day
all flowered and fragrant
and darling as if a doll
“are
we deciding to stray
from our atheist ways?”
she says that "god is a garden, is all"
she
spits out the seed
from the fruit that she eats
which is not a war we wanted at all
if
there's one thing i wish
it is that I could die for istich and awe
as the fire impresses .
and reaches the trestle
that connected the trees with the stars
and
resplendent they dreamt
of the commonest love
the parlor, the race, and the law
for
the mornings we wait for are terrible days
we dine amongst the awe
and slip through the grip
of our modern resentment
as sand through some hour glass vial
waiting
for love that is common enough
is like draining sucking the sea of its brine
so
today i am going to hide in the fold
that named us all
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