The woods. My grammar.
Damaged goods, I stammer.
Trip over a log stamped with ‘decisions.’
Face plant in the mud of solitude.
What am I doing? Time for revisions
Stuck in the forest with its latitude and longitude.
Oh god, now I’m writing a sonnet.
I see an eagle carrying thirteen berries
On a small vine, heading away from Washington, D.C.
looks like the politicians are on coffee break.
Takin’ a little sip o’ they espresso,
watchin’ the poor people bicker and argue
over who gets the shitty little ghetto apartment
let’s call Judge Judy, we’ll be on T.V.
Forests are green, but not for much longer
here comes the eagle again,
he’s manning a bulldozer, oh god,
run away! Turns out my ‘decisions’
don’t count for shit here!
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