Here was that
utopia.
On a bench in a park
where the ponds rippled
lonely
we considered darkly
strange notions
experimentations
justifications
patronization
in a world without
patrons
wild orchids spat acrid acid
no reason to resist
unchained
without chains
there were no chains
nothing to soak in the sun
sink into ripened bananas
blossomed with flowers
beauty unrestrained
unexamined
without purpose
when the world whirls without wonder
what wisdom wins?
worry not weary wanderer
writhing wounds the witness
wary wastrel winding
where wrath resides
we do not
prestine means nothing
it is a fairy tale
that unattainable ideal
a figment
an excuse
a hook
a phantom
a pretty picture
fantasy epics pretend
they know
distractions creating shadows
along the wall of wicked absurdity
batting an eye
that obscene allure
totally accepted
the bench we sit on
is not real
it is a conjuring
to fill a void
slaughtering the garden
red roses plucked clean
we look away
ashamed of our innocence
enjoyment
we are not one.
Here we sullied
utopia.
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