Downtown roses bloom as July summers every mile.
Don’t ask if you can’t close a door without a slam.
Destroyed violets uptown like a sinner steps on my grass
For the gardner. Don’t say if you can’t cure reasons from love.
His abbey burns, bells the ringtone of one’s demise
If you can’t shoot the pawn that pins the queen.
Fetch my eyes hurling this century’s targets
On clocks and calendars so slow they catch my drift.
I’m so much gone if you can tell.
In a mile in a town bloom roses
That you could hatch before the game.
This is the end, he never knew where it began
on a couch or a chair, through precision or profusion.
closing the hutch heaven turns to hell,
don’t ask, I wouldn’t tell.