la ĝardenisto, parto ses

I visited my friend today
he has nothing that he’d like to say
because there’s a spiderweb binding his lips shut
from disuse and decay

your breath is enough for me to paint
all the bruised colors of the morning sky
like I took my friend and mounted him
on the wall like a vintage painting

and when I slip through the back door of the house
and sneak my way to the river
the children living in freedom inquire what it’s like
to have wings clipped and essence harvested

one of these days, I fear
that the gardener will uptake his shears
and these innocent souls will upturn their eyes
and find shards of my corpse among the waters

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