Suburban Lovechild Poet Free verse

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.

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