LORCA AND BUCKOWSKI IN MY GARDEN

the garden is there
like
a
lawn lays down
identical to itself with unsecrets
and
at
three o clock
its
three o clock on the dot
and
brother bear
stretches out in the chair
sitting
in
limbo
like a framed picture is there
hanging inevitable 
from a nail banged in paint
from 
tins
rusting
with bent lids
twisted like deformity is twisted
left
out
in
the
garage
for decades like forever

from mickdean.net