Gone

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The trees had no source.

Coming from the grounds as sprouting began,

the roots invisible, perhaps underground.

The moss could not gather at its feetless grounds

and the bark looked like wrinkled skin overcome

and smothered by burst-out, muscular veins.

Some leafing stems sprouted out, but they were thrust up,

forcefully, erected, flimsy
in statuesque drug.

The termites were getting in—with a hard time, I’ll say—

while the trees took no notice.

When the rain fell, they were about to drink.





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