WEEP ME TO HOLLOW TEARS
Yesterday I saw a nice family outside their brand new holiday home.
An old oak tree shadowing their Sunday talk,
its spring leaves overhearing their future:
Felling.
The trunk is violating:
Territory.
The branches are invading:
Space.
In the back a radio announcement:
Europeans raising their borders back up.
A blockage against the sea:
gallons of flesh and souls vainly tested out by the water and washed away, into the void.
Echoes bouncing off the raise and fall:
ancient rhythm of waves breaking on futuristic walls.
My hands working, making, faster, more,
plastic bags, thousands.
I am like a machine in the factory.
One bag after the other,
to forget,
to protest:
my cowardness.
Quick, more monuments, to remind what I keep forgetting.
Quick, I need to commemorate my story,
protect my fence,
justify my petrified heart.
Today I saw another overlooked object wondering across a new frontier.
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