The DNA of Carbon

P. A. LEVY

 

 

 

The history of grass,

as churned over into putrid mud,

sets the whistling scythes to work

through freshly ploughed fields.

Crushing the wildness out of flowers 

birdsong lonesome blues

fades to silence.

 

Howitzer messengers, harbingers of dark yesterdays;

soundbite words from wisdoms, rarefied beads

of dazzling deceptions.  Play follow the leader.

Hypnotic.  Catatonic. Trance don’t dance

when you dance in straight lines. Let’s be beetles;

yeah yeah yeah, let’s be worms.  Compostable truth;

let’s do the squirm, take your partners for the country lust.

Return to sender via last post, they’re autumnally challenged

at half mast and will silently 

eventually

rot away. 

 

Amen.