Outside the borders of this asylum’s garden not much is in bloom.
Seems fastidiousness of this establishment’s gardener is derangement of decadence:

... neat little rows of pansies,
followed by neat little rows of anemones, with alternate groupings of hostas and Lenten roses behind.
All against the backdrop of viburnums,
capped with hydrangea at each end.
The airy sprays of baby’s breath and coral bells give veils of blossoms not to obscure color behind, making it all sparkle, as if some fairytale world,
encapsulated by a wall of hemlock,
like an evergreen iron curtain.

And I am certain,
I am more insane in here
than beyond that gate where
dandelions push through cracks of pavement and my shaking cold body
is not riddled with
the rainbow colored pharmaceutical
salad of this insanity.