The poem is about the joys of those who interfere with our roses.

Book 301 is intended to be a collection of poems by Mike Burr for 2010 with no thematic precept.


never never look down
this i swear upon a rose for great heights
it is assumed are only for certain forms of life
or certain people certainties in truths are growing
and from the gods of earth the thale cress is sprung
in its polyphyly and its weedy coded genes
we dig and thus we partly understand
for understanding is a pretty thing among the weeding
she rises in her frock of cherry print
its red dye dark and madder than the long set sun
she rises and she smiles
spring ephemeral in her garden grows
only once did i see her among the rose before then
like a ghost a distanced and thin
and then she came
and wandering through my garden as though she knew its flowers
and meaning me she says
"i can only see dead people here"
and through the impertinence i am busy like the bees
froing winging level this way then that but i am thinking of her
in that same buzzing little way
annoying in her
"I'm sorry i didn't know you were going to be here"
disturbing and lying in her calculating manner
and i need to see a way to avoid the here of her
and her stupid incoherent manipulative little ways
she's probably rattling conceited about me
and how i underhanded her nob of a boyfriend
and now bitter because we both knew
we never would know each other
in a congenial way but now that the garden is bare
i am addicted to lost
and its scent upon the dry thorns hangs
and even the mulch seems oddly picturesque
its steaming images that float where live once plucked the rose
here i grew my best theory
i am going to live forever
and indeed i see an intrinsic link
between my exaltations and exasperation
at this course for it is tiresome lone
and skating on the garden pond
my friend it was not long before you sunk
and your shoulder upon which i cried was inundated
a flood of flowers that have hardly ever been and never will again
for there is nothing substantial hung upon the leaves of flowers
only insects and air above
and when the rain a clattering
announces loud
"i can only see dead people here"
its cloudburst tells a truth for all the protoplast to hear


Read http://jayphive.spaces.live.com/?_c11_BlogPart_BlogPart=blogview&_c=BlogPart&partqs=cat%3Dshit blog and used some of its language to construct a garden