I need the landscape to move me.
I need to see to rolling hills and trees.
I have to look over the cliffs and witness,
The ocean thundering onto the beach.
I love to climb-up onto the branches,
Of old growth trees and hang on,
To the limbs as if it were my own life,
At stake.Then sit and write a poem.
Few things makes sense to me.
People are always fucking things up.
We need to change the landscape.
Rake away the fermenting muck.
We need the rain to stir-up the leaves,
Not the assholes spreading disease.