I made a triangle in a graveyard on All Saint’s Day
Its boundaries were marked
. by a neglected mausoleum
. by a smug green bench
. by a screaming knot in a tree
It rained torrentially yesterday
I stepped carefully on the soggy ground
A young girl kicked at leaves on a soldier’s grave
Where did she find leaves dry enough
. kick ?
A sign instructed very clearly
Fake flowers are permitted
All Saint’s Day is Open Season for plastic petunias.
By winter my triangle had lost all of its leaves
Even the nearby pine tree was barren
. Winter was harsh that year
. The old mausoleum was neglected.
In the springtime my triangle woke up to birds returning
They were all vacationing in Venezuela
You must try the tacos
They’re to die for.
Summer saw my triangle awash in fierce flowers
Plastic Petunia had been kicked
Out of the party.
In autumn a woman walks around with jingle bells on her ankle
She has broken my triangle of silent reverie
. I cast Jingle Cunt into my triangle
. My triangle of death is acid mist eating her skin
. We are all ugly meat sacks underneath.
The knot in the tree is screaming
The old mausoleum is neglected
The green bench is smug
Rain begins to fall .
in the graveyard .