after All around the living ones by JKD
A pack of Carthage and Windsor, four pickled eggs
and a Coke float later
things stood thus:
house: unfinished;
home: inexistent;
garden: getting there;
going: good.
And being neither master nor slave
but one of those lukewarm things that God spits out,
I was shirking my responsibilities with gusto:
poking at the shrubbery,
tinkering with the mise en scène,
as if if I could sort out my borders
I’d have it, or most of it, licked.
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