Agony in the Garden

Why are you walking around my garden, John Ruskin, these
are Prestige Flowers and you are gnawing like the worm. Why
must pleasure be a catastrophe? I have dedicated this sleep life
to statuary I have laboured joyfully for my base wet daughters
and you and yours have no place building nations here in the
name of purified water. When will my attention span return
from the war? Desire, hooked again, there is no inverse relation
between my dislike for you and the embarrassment you cause.

She didn’t want to fuck you either her person was not formed
to excite passion I thought there was no such thing as bad
weather? Splendid, her skin was luminous, every blood smear
every hair-like feather. When will my attention span allow me
to achieve more? Saved for the nation, her fat tongue is full
with splinters, saved for the nation she deserved, as usual, more.

John, like sesame, like lilies, you manipulate what you have never
grown. Constant though unlessoned, stoic in the face of pleasure,
may we only tread with patience the path we have been shown.