The very land of landfill lordsis alive;A crude creature in itself,The sizzling scrap and smokeits skinand the bubbling browny brothits blood.
Another puddle,animated out ofan arbitrarily formed cavityby a thunderstorm,perfectly ensconced into the asphalt sheet.
One sleek stump,smelly and straight,I draw myself outwith the drudgeryof a drunk dagger.
My roots extend,and sometimes though,I loathe,they strangle and seize,they must…
Some believe thatall the leaves onall the branchesof all the treesare exactly wherethey’re supposedto be,even the deadand dried ones;