Caged In At Bryant Park

Dusk, prone for a head-on collision For the trees brace themselves Huddle as tribesmen to swat away The human dirigibles taking laps Around this pathetic attempt To rape nature for commerce With intimate kiosks acting as Mini brothels looking to get laid (and paid, at 70% off) I hear the trees whimper slightly Marginalized for the margins and cracks looming Inside each retail fish* tank Let's choose to ignore them Let's oxidize together For the trees need this more than us Because guess who's left standing When the brothels close From diseased indulgence And reddish overuse When the game's over After last rites granted And the lights go out When we simply need to gaze Towards the heavens and Honor these angelic trunks Of tantric glory. (10/23/14) *replacement word; actual is not allowed by site standards.