Barbara Hascakova Roses in my Garden

Wow, I'm sick of doubt live in the light of certain south, cruel bindings the servants have the power dogmen and their mean women pulling poor blankets over our assailers I'm sick of dour faces staring at me from the TV tower I want roses in my garden bower, dig? royal babies, rubies, must now replace aborted strangers in the mud these mutants blood meal for the plant that's ploughed they are waiting to take us into the severed garden you know how pale and wanton, thrillful comes death in the strange hour unannounced, unplanned for like a scary over-friendly guest you've brought to bed death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as ravens' claws no more money, no more fancy dress this other kingdom seems by far the best until its other jaw reveals incest and loose obedience to a vegetable law I will not go... prefer a feast of friends to the giant family Poetry by Jim Morrison From B.H.: I miss My Dad, I miss my Father. R.I.P. Jozef Hascak...You're always with me...in my heart.