I'll never leave this place.

my restless air, the hint of decay ingrained,
is stained and coddled with a blanket of droplets
pattering on a crumbling earthly mass a day, a day.
I lay iris to lashes on a garden of grasses and onto bees' backs I'll relax these tired branches and roots.

and sway with the fury of the firs...

and the fires that crown and flicker so violently, climbing and toppling over a wooden atlas
with fifteen foot feet-a network of beautiful fuels and four hundred foot souls,
burdened backs that burn less bright than the spark that sought what they lack;
an attack of angry arms reaching towards the clouds, and bolts of electrons running for the ground.

everything wants what it can't have
a release, a completion of this cycle

I'll never leave this place.
not for a penny or a pretty face-an angel on the mountains caked on the saddle of our hips
glaciers cursing and crackling in the valleys of passing hearts and fake plastic shit

this is it, this echoing monument to everything grand and out-lived, this is it,
to soft bodies laden with sin and lips spread for a connection between covalent bonds and palm fronds
plant my seed, nurture and let thrive, grow quietly, and be alive.