there, there; there is no land anywhere

there. now there will be
  no caviar trees and frosted dirt
for mothers of nature to roll themselves in
  there, there. that field was poorly painted
anyway;      i wouldn't be so intoxicated by the stench
of its oils if i were you.      it was to happen sooner or later
when beggar minds flushed its
              waving subjects away which
drifted away
      with the sneer of the chainsaw
and blackmailed bulldozer , it whinged as it
   gathered green carpets and furniture of sticks;
           -      laughed at by bricks, and tiles,
    greed,          and symphonies of lost and sad birds
and all the things that fucked us senseless.

Author's Note

Just experimenting, really. Maybe my muse has died down to a distant smoke... it'll perk up soon, hopefully!

Reviews

[Pól]

Like it- very different