Woods

In trickle-down moonlight
Silver dollar beetles
in a high-speed thump
burn through the obscured
night trees.

Pollution makes
otherwise delicious
bass nothing more than
a good fight
and a mild sunburn,
knee deep in warm
and ancient
waters.

Had some yellow poplar leaves
and rationed toiletpaper
for hygiene and smoke baths.

Weak wrists after days
of dirt daubing a
human hovel.
10 foot walls weighing
at tons of clay.

Remembered songs and
stagnant stinking memories
flurry down and melt on my mind's
ground.

And to think
that I can do even
better.