Less Garden More Wild

She didn’t want to leave the garden-grounds,

the structures were derelict because

of time you say… The highs were barely

high while the lows were almost invisible.

Centuries of wind, time, dirty fingers

and dark souls have crashed

into the structures, a place she could call

home. She didn’t want to leave here and resign

to the new voices and the growing miasma of stale flesh.

She was gliding across those behemoth halls,

completely stripped of garniture, adorned newly

with a decrepit old woman’s skin and

bones together to avert evil.

But there are no empty spaces, she

saw him across the wasteland also gliding,

a fulgurous smile struck her, breathless!

Both scanning the landscape, both

waiting to rest, to combine their calmative breathing…

She was a madwoman, the sound and

smells condensed with all that was invisible

around her but seemed to still occupy

all the space! the imaginary decorative cut-glass

on the widows broke the white and left

a trail of bleeding watercolour outline of her

desires. Combine this with a shot of acid rain

and the view is mesmerising, it burns everything

it touches, there remains no shade, no shelter.

His shabby facade crumbled as well,

crashed into numerous parts that fit each other perfectly,

her already smelted heart has set out to play

a puzzle. His form increases shattering all

objects that bore centuries of guilt.

Her buildings shatter, the landscape dripping

in nostalgia and abandon. He took it upon himself

to demonstrate the strangeness that turns into suffocating heat

eventually drying out, slipping away human life.

The garden still remains, lives, the grounds

are safe now, birds singing in the middle of winter,

pretending spring has arrived, choking on their lies.

The empty halls with no walls, no roof, barely a

structure, just about standing, this is

the stretch–now a tourist attraction with all its

dilapidation; chanting a hallowed story–death

of a dynasty–closing her arguments still

unable to convince him of her configurations.

Yellow mountains circled the garden,

sticky with erotic concentration,

movements controlled by neither, just how

the light of the lightning stays momentarily,

still blinding everything in its path. Their bodies

didn’t match which began a series of reconstructions

around the site. The fake trees, hills, animals,

relocated–the garden emptier than ever–now

just a space opening up beyond. They fucked in complete silence…

They were observed by the apparition,

ecosystem, persistently, endlessly,

like a time-lapse. She, her version of her,

her version of him coincide, resemble,

remains. Her body, her version of her

body, her image of his body collapse.

She desires, her desires, nothing but

a woman cutting into her skin,

she existed as an inconsistency, unknown.

–