the jungle encroaches.
I can't stop it.
I see the vines
and wild flowers, the trees
and bushes
sprouting madly in the small
postage stamp
of a yard.
it will soon engulf
my house not unlike
the mayan ruins.
I suspect the neighbors on
either side
are not thrilled with
my jungle, barbequing
with their propane fires,
out on their bricked
patios and pristine
decks, but what do they
know about temples,
about the nature
that I embrace. one day
they will uncover
my humble abode and wonder
what was going on here
and who was sacrificed
at the altar of my
weber grille.
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