The House and the Garden

These days are treacherous—like cut vines and murderous rootsthe flowers in the gardengrow deliberately out of proportion.Insensitive, they are colorlessand don't leave any room for the grass.

Trees uproot themselvessending hidden fingersto hide the sun.

The stones are automatically bored.

When I walk outsidedevils sit and guard the rabbit holes.The fence is indifferentand the vegetables never getenthusiastic about anything.

I've given up simply tryingto understand. Small animals matebetween the walls of my house.I'm afraid it too will soondisappear—most of my neighborswish I would leave.

Because of themthere hasn't been any weatherfor over a year.

I am such a sad young girland they are such horrible old men.