What is
this sickness
we've created,
stacked brick
thick
for years
and lived
within?
this friend
fosters
snakelike
hate
sliming a
scaly
trail through
my trust,
trudging
on what
seemed so
steadfast.
it's
ending so fast.
I've plucked
her apple
and asked for a
handful
of
a rotted
mealy mess
we planted
and implanted,
and now our
garden
grows sick
produce,
swarms with
flies,
and blooms
broken buds.
we will
plant seeds
elsewhere
next spring.
