the berries.

the fence is chain

out of season berry trees grow outside

bombarding the asphalt pad

leaving little splats of sympathies

the walls are concrete

the floors are concrete

the fence is chain

i stare at ornate engravings

weathering drops from the acid rain

cinder blocks and asphalt

cathedrals for those with eyes to see

the walls are concrete

with hasty sharpied scrapes

names and dates, names without place

the desire to eat the berries, 

so the walls are something other than concrete

out of season berries dropping bombs

on the courtyard of sympathies

to eat them, from the snow they fell on

and change the walls to something i can cry on