I used to go to the gardens,
the urban haven
of misplaced rural folk.
A folk
who through some cosmopolitan fantasy,
ceded themselves from nature
for a thrill,
a dream,
a stab at a life
unforeseen.
I used to go to the gardens.
The urban misfits made them
from their deprivation,
for their desperation.
The cement triage
of another's dream of the city,
births idle thrills.
The forsaken
quest for
a peaceable kingdom.
And now,
there is a Bauhaus building
on the lower east side.
Our dialogue is done.
The copulation of dreams
fade.
There is a Bauhaus building
on the lower east side.
And the gardens,
are sepsis,
sewage,
toxic rage.