deepundergroundpoetry.com
Graveyards
I think I spent a few centuries
watching you pull weeds
tons of helpless herbs
and you took everything
that came to hand.
Nothing escaped your fingers
like a scythe reaping bodies
and limbs and heads
like floating dandelions.
The daisies lying on the ground
hopeless poppies, crushed,
lilies, yellow with fright, undone.
Nothing escaped your eyes
like electric scissors
that had come from outer space.
You, slovenly person, you
always destroying and undoing
what grows in freedom.
You, who will die and become
the fertilizer needed for everything
that grows and you wanted to pluck
from the eternal soil that covers your grave.
You, who are already sure
that you will always be the gardener
chosen for all hells...
PAR
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