The Trees have lost their Friends (For Coleton)

This is the feeling stuck in my gut.

That awful taste through sips of

Saturday morning coffee. 

Odd to the eye

like the fashion magazine you read

but knew you didn't order.

Was it a Scammer perpetrating freud 

or

was it a fat fingered key

during an Amazon deal?

It will all be rectified. In your gut, 

you feel it.

So you walk your thoughts along

like a herdsmen motives his goats

through a pasture.

But you are in The Valley.

Vultures circle above

sniffing Death's Perfume.

The ground shakes

super seismic.

You feel them now, don't you?

Creeping through the atmosphere,

under Sycamores, sitting sinister,

ready to pounce.

They ain't what they used to be.

No kin to Maple or Oak.

They wait numb and dumb,

no longer friends 

of Deciduous or Due Process.

Heck, they're meaner 

than twenty miles of concertina. 

The only thing to call them is

Enemy







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