POEM 2

April 21, 2014

the grieving tree

people are
assholes,
they want the world for
themselves.

the trees know this.

so next time you
find yourself
walking the streets
in langour
and you notice a
tree just hanging
around by itself,
stick your
man-ear to its tree-trunk
do not feel awkward
go over to it
and kiss that
pretty wooden thing
then make sure nobody is
watching and
listen closely.

you can hear
it grieving

a hollow baritone sort of
grieving,
like someone humming
an ancient
blues lyric
accompanied
by a chello or
a double bass.
eerie on account
of being slightly
out of tune.

sometimes
you can feel
its words
elongating

and then the
baritone hums

that despite all your parks
and your cafes and
your universities and
other egglike deathlike brickwork boxes
you can walk into,
breathe into
feel safe around
decorated with
the same old same old
grey old grey old
chairs and tables
walls on four sides
square after square
built by man
for man
to sit and wonder
head resting on
clenched fist
sweat resting on
furrowed brow
fucking horrorshow
sit and wonder
about the most
important things in
life
your bank account
your investments
life insurance
the economy
the environment
god bless
get filthy rich
buy a tablet
take care of yourself
puppet on
the right
puppet on
the left

in shrines in
news rooms in
our lonely lonely beds
also inside our heads

despite
our desperation
to define the nature
of the human spirit
and its purpose in the
universe,
despite all the
different methods
of control that
we force upon
the breathing earth,

the world still
will
never
ever
belong to man.

bite the nipple that feeds

the trees know this
and grieve.