In The Garden
In the garden there are owl orchids and eye orchids
and a bench made of cyclops ivory for the weary wanderer to rest
and settle in to the meat of the moment.
The air is saturated with pollyn and resonant whirring
as prismatic vortexes move from sunflower to candyweed
to oyster blossoms to snuff puffs
to pig posies to daffodyls
to ballroom bells to rhino’s breath.
Let the colors and plant sex pervade you, weary wanderer.
Let the pollyn lift your spirits and heal your wounds.
There are bald birds which slither on their bellies
and hide under coral cones,
and they are singing “A-too-wee! A-too-woo!” to you.
Hang your hat on the brie branch beside you
and watch it turn into hundreds of blue green beetles.
Plant your cane in the earth and watch it sprout flowers.
Rest your feet upon the dragon skull and let the garden envelop you
as you merge peacefully into the life thrumm.
A crow angel looks up from its mysterious mischief.
The gush beasts make a joyful noise upon your arrival.
Recursive laughter echoes off the walls of Mirror Mind
as Buddha
laughs at Buddha
laughs at Buddha
laughs at Buddha.
Spent all that time wandering on the answer’s legs,
looking for answers with the answer’s eyes.
The questions were just Buddha trolling himself.
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