Franklyn Monk

out by the overly shaded dahlia pit where the beautyberry will go is an infinite series of interconnected teeter-totters six of which are evident made from logs of invasive mimosa that stink of disease the lot of them produced enough shade to kill off a native stand before dying off the land cares for its own but young pop up quick in disturbed areas around the shrine to the native victims of the invasion overlooking both the graveyard and the pile of corpses motherfucker ain’t gonna come out of nowhere and sting your ass boy I like to think staring at the hornet