My back garden

24 5 2

in the morning i think about the essays creeping over my back garden.

they are the dense sort, biology reports with thorns of luxuriosa lingua

and i'd need to shovel google scholar

and midnight lab break-ins to snip it off my to-do list


they are the everywhere sort, close-reading passages sneaking their roots onto my porch

and i'd need to douze with oily longwinded, thick, fat and hairy with bits and bits and bits sticking out each and every end with nowhere to go and nowhere to be and tangenting off whatever i was meant to say 'cause the word counts the only real point, isn't it? Ooh, a rhetoric's nice too but you just have to explain it, nothing

and add because as a filler for eight hours to kill it forever—now


i could grab a flamethrower and burn my brows and the whole garden with it

at 11.57 pm.

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