this garden of my body

this garden of my body
slows,
grows
as the weather
turns and turns and
turns
colder
as the sphere of this world turns
colder

i shovel earth
move heavy dirt

i plant myself
when the ground is almost too hard to break
myself
too hard to break
i plant my
self
in the cold turning earth

in the dark of the season
the wrong place at the wrong time
when the gardens all go to bed
i plant myself,
this garden that is my body

the wind is cold enough to burn
and frost decorates the ground
like jewels
or an icy shroud

and yet i burn
and break the soil
i go to the coldest place
at the darkest time of the year
turning and turning
you'd think i was confused but i know
exactly what i'm doing
moving this heavy earth
planting myself

the seeds within me
would you believe,
they flourish in the cold,
they grow when neglected,
when
buried?

i move the heavy earth
to plant myself
this garden of my body.

my sinews rot
and from my rubbery bones
sprout
sprout sprout!
black creeping vines
thick and ropey
slick and stout
they are
impossible to cut--

can you see me
break the soil?
move the heavy earth?
the frost blossoms on my skin
scorching
cold,
turning colder

this black garden of my body
blooms
out-of-season

as the sphere of the earth
turns and turns
the gardens go to sleep
but i'm awake
and turning
turning
into something else
in my grave cave

purple and black blooms
burst forth,
rich and velvety
a riot of bruise-flowers
from my decay
from this delay
i turn into something else.

do i terrify?
does my decay
dismay
you?
watch me change
in this season of dearth
the garden of my body
seethes
with
maggoty life.

this black garden of my body
blooms
out-of-season.

(and the sphere of this world burns)

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