In the Garden


Early in the morning,

I can see it blooming

Still, a night-flower

Near the bay.  Smoke balls

Bounce into the

Garden, from the six

O eight, and the garbage

Burnings glow.


The ripe blue flower

Is rooted down in

Danger street, where

After dark, a man

Should question any

Stranger he may

Meet.  The fragrance

Of the garden is gasoline

And paint, and in an

Hour, waste will flow.


Above the clangings

Of the garden, the name

God is sometimes heard.

The serpent still moves

Supine, searching

For the word.  Adam

Toils. Eve has come

To count on


Pain.  And a neon

Flower of knowledge

Blossoms gaudy in the rain.