The red iron smell of the dried wood tongue
That had been burned against the heat like the
Sweet jalapeños. As if the gap between
The bushes of peppers and his cover
In growing of the grass hasn’t brought down
Layered insects, you ask him, what does it
Mean? He responds: does your house have curtains?
Now tell me, if you can, what do they mean?
In so many ways, he had given in
Adorned like stained glass in a Catholic
Church. He had taken on the mantle of
Post-modernism. Now, he was of the
Neighborhood garden. Pushing up lifting
The front of a word so malleable.