The Death of The Tree of Life

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When He pressed those sticky buttons

on that old melodion

and the stars peaked through the cloudy night …

well, I was nothing more or less

than a fox in the late spring.

My industry was one of mere instinct —

of sight and smell.

Walt Disney and his cronies would’ve been

Happy

only in the knowledge

that the yin to their yang was locked

outside the secure gates

of their estates.

Lost!

Dazed!

Confused!

yet satisfied with the scraps of those feast pigs

(after all, Walter never ate the bacon)

I was, and am

faster than the bin man

Returning to the hillside

is a big relief after being exposed

and stranded in the desert.

Still, there is very little shame

in colouring those mountains red & blue

Particularly when their thorny exterior

cannot really hurt you.

Don’t you realise that there has been —

on at least two or three occasions —

orange autumn leaves that have survived the winter?

don’t ask me how… just consider it

Figuratively.

Wigglesworth, Grindleton, Tosside,

and bastards, and brawlers, and brats …

there was once a time

when the earth was nothing but dry desert:

and I can guarantee you

that history will repeat itself

in this case.

However, this deserted episode

in the earth’s unwinding tale

does not fall under the bracket of “history,”

for “history”

only covers a certain fraction

of humanity’s brief journey —

it is only his story

that these plain, sorry words

are capable of expressing (apparently).

And no funeral service

or jewell-studded coffin

is gonna pacify the explosion — the inevitable finale!

He can’t escape the chaos

that must ensue,

even with the craftiness of a fox.

Summer is coming!

Winter is over …

and eventually

we will never see Him again.

“Pack your shit, folks”

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