“Dead Garden” by Nick Pipitone.

Watching from the fire escape 
I breathe in fresh air of daylight;

blue jays land in a dead garden,
colors brilliant against a dull backdrop,
my eyes offended by their garishness;

dried leaves rustle like fading nightmares,
an urge to suck in colors before me

and vomit them back out,
like the creator God who
devours shriveled flesh, then
makes galaxies in her hands.

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6 thoughts on ““Dead Garden” by Nick Pipitone.”

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