The Friendship Garden

Thu, 01/16/2014 - 16:02 -- Soraya

The Friendship Garden

Is dead.

 

 

Lofty copper words upon a

Pedestal of weeds.

Promises and hollow words, caresses, loyalty, and love

Hold hands and proudly look upon

The child that they produced.

 

 

Acid

Venom

Composted death.

The stench of deadwormsandratsandbugsandflesh

Numbly exhuming plumes, they retch

Out

Blood and

Chunks of

Mud and

Muck.

Rotting stumps choking on lacerations of brittle floss vines

Violet babies, tender, timidly brilliant, peep their blinking heads

Gasping

Raggedly

For air.

Before insentient weeds toss over and voraciously engulf.

Ragwort consummating Gaea’s misery

Fiducial roots sprawled out unhurriedly

Hemlock at their hairy ends

Jabbing, penetrating the caverns in the dirt—

Necrophilia—by the dead.

Half-eaten apple molted into ash

Its tree has withered, black and sagging

The leaves capitulated, composted, stank

And,

Brown and molded black,

They whimpered to the ground

To die.

Engorged by slumping weeds,

The writhing smell of decaying dandelions

Absorbs the buzzing, humid air.

 

 

The graves are full

So the bodies of the Friendship Garden

Spittle on top of each other,

Pile Up

And Die

At the feet of the pedestal.

 

 

The Friendship Garden

Is dead.

 

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