Noture (z)
I would have relished the fresh
crunch of crisp leaves,
If not for the slimy smile of slugs beneath
Would’ve salsa’d with the sun
beaming from ear to ear of corn,
But it’s the UVs, you see
She couldn’t have been my mother, for my
lips would touch no mossy bosom
I could converse with wind and trees
if I troubled to learn woosh and bark,
But why can’t they all just
speak English? This is America.
I’d live deep and suck out the
marrow of life,
But I’d rather save my tongue
for tastier things
In short: I’d bother to live in harmony
with the earth and sing verses with the universe
till the smiles smote all the swords and
weapons surrendered to the power of words,
and beings loved outside their herds,
and all of us flew with the birds,
If it wasn’t so fuckin’ inconvenient.
