Poem #32

I just want to live like the trees,

Upright, without strain on my knees;

To feast on human words in the breeze,

Then photosynthesise as I please;

To mutely endure the cruellest disease

And strut the canker like a starchy bleed;

To admit as defence a ring of hippies,

Rattling placards if it a lumberjack sees;

To reserve my dopest fit for when lightning breathes:

Charred, sublime, and misshapen without all my leaves.

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