The walkway of hexagons,
and their square companions,
gray and tinged with red,
adjacent to each other
with mathematical precision,
was wrapped, gated
with haphazard wood trim,
painted with industrial-
serrated hash markings,
similar to the barrier
of the common coupon clippings.

Grass blades, infantile,
and baby clovers snuggled
in the crease,
these lovers of geometry
and all things,  garden.

I endeavor to mimic him
with wrist, hardened
to catalog each instance, details,
stone circumferences of the heretical.

The tropical, the gardens,
the spores of his obsession,
took possession of my brain seams.
Now I catalog everything, everything.


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