Thousand Years of Being

Last Act
March 1, 2013
Rusty Rivets Squirreling
March 6, 2013

I cannot fell anxiety, the red cheeks flush with
miserable, anymore than oaks fall flat with thousand
years of being, rooted to the ground—

and were the rancorous winds, shoving
with invectives like a schoolboy churning
up a deep-known poverty within,

some kind of bowling over that new
roots manage in the earth a less oppressive
soil—well, i’d tell you, flush with iron

skin, emotion does not drive our
patient Mother forth, so much the
pinioned oak in storms impossible

has late confessed; and with a stoic
sense, to our fictionated minds,
presumes again to father leaves.

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