Tuesday, January 7, 2020

Poem: January 3, 2020

Cruel Garden

Email climbs the walls like ivy,
like an invasive species, a weed,
climbing, climbing and draping
itself over everything, making
a mat of the canopy, blocking
the sun, choking anything else.

Its roots sink deep into the rich
subterranean reaches of our
personal, professional, commercial
soil. An ancient weed, as old as we.
A voracious consumer of time
and human pleasure. A sprawling
nothing that crawls and binds.

The best we can do is clip it back
with our daily shears and machete,
or else burn it to the ground with
a single, careless, nuclear click.
But of course, the roots, the roots
are always there and urging up,
and we know this only ends with
our own ending because we'd
break our own backs in the pulling.


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