Earth: 2

Gnarled roots of fists
Punchin with cheer
Tar your wrists
As you crunch your fears
The bark on your chest
No longer arrests
My attention
If I were the pesticide
You’d be the locust
If I were the drought
You’d be the survivor
Is it fun-to be abandoned to your endless fields of grain
I’d sooner tear
Your leaves
Then embrace them----dear
You are the shrubs that have finally been cleared
You are the shrubs