Children, cusp these legs & cut me. Tongues
slick with red ivy, palms sticky of purpling gentry.
Slicing the strands, steel hands, oak tables serving
capitalistic cacophony. Lips enigmatic shipwrecks,
clouded daydreams flagging thirsty decks. Spine
breaching mortality, skyscrapers coax bills of posed
community. Child, waters never suffice and yet lives,
to survive, turn to froth crimson.

Alive, vivid lustres spark syllabic fibres. Roots speak,
pleading, marching to retake home. Underground
pipes stir. Earth smells of riddles. It reeks of fear.
Abundance of panoramic episode is clear. Bushes
surrender, trees split with thunder. If the soil could
weep, it befriends frequency. Alive, if mouths could
be sirens & lands became brass boats, clayed skins no
longer flee as if hunger can be escaped—not a prison.

Survive, wonders curved into memorial sculptures,
fleeting pollination. Fluorescent pristine lakes soiled,
exchanged pollution. Unquenched thirst. The mind
remembers war-torn crusts. Remnants of the blames.
Ownership bearing horns. Fertile lands crack to ripeless
ages. Earth’s rage isn’t folly.But truth’s wake is ugly.
Survive, conquer not what’s left of Earth but the mortally
vegetative poison.