Desolation

Walk through green towards the hospital and then

Down to the basement where there are the parents of

The child that we called the person who created the garden, and

The bruise that I feel on my brain can be called a deep dark blood black

Stains that are called darkness

A mar on my thoughts that crush the world into a box

Rounded by time and withered by others who would deem it sickness

But in death they see that they will also be in a box

No green remains, only the faint purple of the antirrhinum

Or that’s what they tell me from inside the sealed box

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