The Garden

There is an obese man
walks through, hands stuffed in pockets, steady
with his flat stare
as he pounds the earth with his flat eyes.

The overgrowth of this garden, which clings madly
to the wire fence
like a beast
clings to
pretty underwear,

weighs in him. His eyes are blue and sad,
his lips
like loose hunks of steak.

The stink of weeds is immense.
They’ve released their burps to the enigma
honeybees.

Of course, they cannot see. None of them—they
walk with tiny canes

and the man is illiterate and crass.

The idiot

will immerse himself
in this semi-brilliance of
flora.