Alfre de Grazia
You make of it a dance
in steps, with limits known;
cruel whip s put to nature so that it's rage abates.
But turn your back and life
begins, tops, halting moves,
clings ebbs, inequable;
the rage of a garden gnashes
through the senses, in
pink blue brown yellow
white purple pink blue
endlessly you see. What
rages in a garden! rocks big
small sharp round sharp
small big blossoms and leave,
cook apothecary dime-store smells.
erutping passion for variety,
yet you make of it a true
predictive science, a beast in
a strai-jacket.