acres and acres and acres and acres and acres and acres of trees

there’s a jungle in the floor crack
do you see it, it has trees
and all the animal sounds and all that stuff

jungles have

with their green lives and the
lies that surround them
chopping away at their beauty, but

who else might want a stab at the crumb,
look there’s a line
out the front door, with
drills and tractors and machines and machines and machines, all
the way to the other side of the street coming out of the neighbor’s front door—

how will we sleep

with all this noise, as they are
munching on the crumbs of despair and providing their
families with fortune cookies that
are distributed from the broken off pieces they’ve managed to gather and
before day-snaps shut—

engineers and architects—
the country’s economic governing must’ve caused
these prospects to happen, nibbling
at the barks of trees, at acres and acres
and acres and acres

and acres and acres
of trees

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