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.