i am an old growth forest
with leaves red as blood
undersides caked with black mold
the loamy earth
cannot contain my writhing roots
now exposed to shadows and gnawing
field mice–
–here in the shadows
you cannot see the sun
that crowns my head
The stuff that comes out a bird's mouth.
i am an old growth forest
with leaves red as blood
undersides caked with black mold
the loamy earth
cannot contain my writhing roots
now exposed to shadows and gnawing
field mice–
–here in the shadows
you cannot see the sun
that crowns my head
