whitman (can go fuck himself)

i should be
working
instead i find
myself lost
in the trees
songbirds adding
their dulcet
tones to the
beastie boys
as we plot
self sabotage
on the winding
trails around
man made lakes
once endless
plains now
pods of condos
ugly concrete
breaking apart
the reddish soil
strip malls
half empty as
a pandemic killed
dreams of commerce
now broken windows
line scenic views
as the trees thin
and the landfill
blows a musty
scent of decay
to smother the
green buds and
i can’t help
but wonder if
global warming is
just the earth
with a fever
fighting an
insidious infection
of virulent humanity
ruining everything
or if i am just
projecting my own
sickness over
six billion
half dead souls
no matter how
hard i try
i cannot lose myself
in the tangled
overgrowth as
the trucks pour
concrete to smother
the life around me
realizing there is
nothing worse
than a bleeding heart
poet in the woods
wanting to make
the world a better place
yet unable to find
a branch strong enough
to support another
corpse swinging in
the fetid breeze
blowing over from
the construction sites

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