i want to grow
a little herb garden
maybe a small batch
of garlic for confit
but i fear
the poisonous touch
of my tainted soul
will leave the soil barren
or my incessant
neediness will
smother any the
nascent growth

i have these dreams
where i have a garden
peppers and onions
a patch of berries
cucumbers and tomatoes
heads of cabbage
then each fall i can
makes jellies and
ferment kimchi
have a supply
celebrating the joys of
self sustainability

a foolish would be
farmer with no notion
of any actual
aspect of horticulture
dying slowly in an
apartment in thr city
clinging to fanciful
wishes with no hopes
of making them real
planting flower gardens
in the dessicated heartsoil
using dreamshit fertilizer
yet growing only patches
of tangled thorny dismay