The tree that bled after it was cut down and fed
the vomited beauty of the machine as it spread
over our flower bed to cover the living death that are weeds;
It once stood awkward and crooked with curly gnarled and unseemly sappy bark
it was a contrast, stark to the naked eye against the landscape of our sloping hill
and garden, til struck down it was by the electric bolt thrust into its core;
On that day my shadow leaped for joy and ran amok 'round the house;
Gone! Gone! this ugly cursed tree! Haha! Oh, how it laughed and laughed with glee;
But I did not follow my shadow, I stood, reflecting on my own fate, as a louse
I see, burned in a fire by an innocent child,
she played with my lighter, spilled its life,
and in flames it glowed, like a glimmering spire
in smooth emanations pulsating with fire
like a heart in the womb, a new life to swell
then extracted by liars, friars and hell.
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