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I had a garden

Now I am the censor of my flowers

I went around with scissors cutting all the dried leaves

Flowers that did not bloom

Or the ones who insisted on drooping

And took with them the colors that should have stayed

In this mismatched garden

Hay color

That crackles in my steps

The sound of dry

I go on with sharp scissors

For there is no place for quitting flowers

It’s important to free their souls from their

Dead roots…


It’s hot

And I can’t think straight

I can’t think at all – I think

I don’t want to be hot tempered

In this afternoon of drought

I know I have to worry

When I see crickets dead at my front door

As if they were going to ring the door bell and ask for water

Or sneak in

It’s hot – period

It shouldn’t be such a hot period

And that makes me worry

Like when I saw the disoriented snake

Who did not know if they were coming or going

And the birds looking for rain

I heard there is a High Pressure Dome

Like something I could touch and break

I could free the air

And let the rain in

To get everything wet

And make smoke on the ground – vapour from the heat

That is driving everyone insane

Turning life incendiary

It is hot

And I can’t think right – or left

The angels don’t want to burn their wings

That’s why we can’t lift this veil of heat…

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