garbled in translation at 3am

she has sought some strange fruit
with seeds that shall grow, trammelling
up to the ceiling of the sky
perhaps to burst through the darkening cloud
that approaches us, ever so innocuously.

she has sought a miracle most unexpected
in all that shanty town a miracle?
in that city of drakes and dragons and duds
where men are fleeced of their conscience

and she is the dog
that has come to bark at the wrong tree
thinking that up this tree there is a monster
most heinous in his misdeeds and must be ensconced
and he had best be repatriated
to another postcode.

and the flower has begun to melt in the heat of the sun!

but even as the flower seems to begin to disintegrate
into its various atoms / molecules / particles
there rings still a dying cry that a wayward bird
calls to the colourful foliage of yore

"I would sooner slit my throat
Than to let my rival gloat
On the hollow victory afloat
On the great river of Life's Waters.
So I shall board a melodious boat
Whose passengers escape the moat
Past the Alligator's Remote
Into the Wide Open Road
To sow my Wild Oats!"