I Am the Wood
the animals and bugs are my thoughts;
crawling and sliding and writhing,
running and screaming everywhere
in every direction— wherever they want—
all at once.
the trees are my pillars of sanity,
standing tall in the midst of chaos,
holding up my only hope for survival—
tying this collection of bedlam together
with their obsessive roots;
tentacles of will.
the dirt is my subconscious pillow;
crookedously lopsiding the transmissions
from the stars like lightning crashing
down my spine and out through my fingertips
till I break something new.
my mind is alive.
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