Urbane Frets


 

Ordered out of the garden.

I wonder what does it really matter?

Weeded out the death threats.

Let the sun set down on my urbane frets.

 

Who goes there?

What is the climatic dare?

Discarded ever…green…

My wishes basic and bare.

 

A prayer for the offspring derelict of commune farms.

Judge me not.

A blooming round weed…in a square plot.

native one 4

 

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