A Man In His Garden

A time comes when the sky is naked

ridding her flesh from stifling clouds 

a purge from noon 

the spherical decent of garments

revealing her bear majesty

and under her celestial spotlight

I make my stage

becoming as light as the air I breathe in 

I leave my house and enter my garden

to bask under her new attire

licorice skin with ivory piercings 

to catch my attention

The song is played

my feet trespass on a snail graveyard

as I light a cigarette

clear clouds of cold demons

emit from my lips

at noon they were stifling

every drag derailing my limbs

from the tracks they cling to

while the song occupies with an unholy engine

I sink into my instincts

my toes become midnight marauders

charging through a miniature jungle

a prisoner to their will

I know not where they go

but I trust them

hoping the ground will hold me up

my arms move with electric relaxation

striking every atom around me

though ecstatic

they keep my balance in place

A monk in his temple

A president in his oval

A man in his garden

this place is sacred

private quarters to let a beat

possess

and forget the house that stands beside me