here is the garden I am
adorned with years
and lean back
webs catch dust
behind a curtain of
the creek
further than you can
count
let the chorus come
each easily foretold
come to live in such
time
you curly tree
and flit
you who are coming
into names
you whose names are
falling away
know that I am the
garden
of picnic tradition
where bears park
their bottoms
and listen up
each to a calling
sky, tin drip
wrack thy evening
bolt from blue
scribble it down as
fast
infested with old
ideas
I, flaunting the new
humbled with
wild in applause
still you're that
once-upon kid
wink of not knowing
just a wandsworth of
long long ago
wired to the wild,
just say
paths fork
here's the flea
unharmed
treatises to nail
down the door
swear off the
exegesis
no time for
moon shines through
after the golden ages
in all my lacks and
lusting
leaf deep mulched
with
puddled home
for whimsy
I tie my tongue
trot off
in this place
shadow lit
rainbows other end us
and once upon a time
climb out from under
the pile of self
a song yet
few facts left
so touching
it is to decide
fish half plastic
the ocean too
grist for the mills I
run
to cultivate abandon
let rattle every
little heart
borne upon time's
palanquin
it was always too
much information
better to push the
barrow
make hills
better to stand on
the soap
than to slip
preserve me in hard
liquor
smoke to me when gone
who but me lives
this?
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