wood nymph

i've got the industrial blues--
lord, whistle me a new tune!

i hear them talkin' road trips,
earning wages,
what clubs and what bars,
giddying up some bastardized dream,
sleeping in motel rooms rated by stars,
when if it's stars they're after,
ya can't fear the dark!

miles from enterprise
and anything ticketed,
i'll stick my arms full
of pine needles,
fill my lungs with
the poetry of trees.
i’ll know the moon's place
in the churning
of my oceanic hips
and the peaceful stars
will shame the counterfeit brilliance
of my city lit eyes.