Nature is my goddess. Take me back, make me foliage,
and let dampened moss come envelop my organs.
Filing-cabinet morgue rent to pay after your mortgage;
gut whatever stale porridge you're told is the proper portion.
I keep to the trees, sway and change with the breeze
while you freeze-dry and fashion a socially acceptable passion.
And I understand the need for concrete understanding
but a compliment of mask is not sound validation.
Lacking any patience to overcome the complacence
has you fighting every sensation of that festering truth-
because you just want someone to love you.
You must have someone to blame above you.
When I upturn my eyes I find the word "space" accurate:
70% water so I'll mostly evaporate
while watching you dig up dirt through contradicting words.
I hush, and figure I'll have plenty of turns
to taste this earth in the end;
when the weather makes fertile soil of my skin,
erodes this lost heart from the outside in,
and gives all my breath back to the wind.
I end where I begin.
Peace of mind is my mind in pieces
not that some entity inside me releases
my body, and floats from all I've ever known-
transcending the places only astronauts roam.
Pine tree bones and saliva sea foam:
Nature is my goddess and my only home.
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