The DNA of Carbon

The history of grass,
as churned over into putrid mud,
sets the whistling scythes to work
through freshly ploughed fields.
Crushing the wildness out of flowers
birdsong lonesome blues
fades to silence.

Howitzer messengers, harbingers of dark yesterdays;
soundbite words from wisdoms, rarefied beads
of dazzling deceptions. Play follow the leader.
Hypnotic. Catatonic. Trance don’t dance
when you dance in straight lines. Let’s be beetles;
yeah yeah yeah, let’s be worms. Compostable truth;
let’s do the squirm, take your partners for the country lust.
Return to sender via last post, they’re autumnally challenged
at half mast and will silently
eventually
rot away.
Amen.

 

©2006 P.A.Levy
First Published 2009 by A cappella Zoo