This is People's Park where tattooed fighters planted rose tattoos and roses grew blood red. It's not a peaceful place. The vines are tangled with our nerves. Grass untidy as a drunk's beard. Trees grow shopping carts.
Bushes grow sleeping bags.
Lilies of the valley smoke cigarettes they just bummed, but with such style. Here are sunflowers that'll steal your backpack when you're not looking, daisies crooked as game booths at the circus and violets sticking out their impudent purple tongues. I don't know. It doesn't matter. When people come to Berkeley they always ask to see People's Park and when I show it to them they don't see it.