Read Poems by
The Gardener: A Soft Slam With Flowers
Fillet rhyme’s flesh (except for two remaining
to see if my skeletons can stand under their own duress
without leaning on gangsterisms and a pocket full of shells.
I have folded the katana four thousand times within my mind—
unsheathed from my eyes, it rides brainwaves,
mulching detritus into fertilizer
for the seeds I plant in the ruins of your violence.
With every shot you fire,
I plant a flower in the casing, adding more photosynthesis
to turn your smog back into oxygen.
Your "just kidding" is a boomerang-bullet,
its true intentions covered in paint
that was "Made in China"—
as it flies back ‘round towards your maw,
the paint peels off, and your "just kidding"
comes skidding to a halt (there’s the remaining
More and more people see your intent beneath the surface,
and you are left in the echo-reverb of your boomerang ballistics,
continuously shooting yourself,
blaming others for pulling the hair-trigger,
until your words drain-out so badly,
the supposed life-force in your syllables
is a bluff floating on the fear of those who are too weak
to pull the intravenous filled with your "just kidding"
June 6th, 2015
Copyright © Chris D. Aechtner