torn labels

this morning there are so many poems
        about treetops against th sky

last night two friends blazed a joint
and I drank to th end of th world

surrounded by Douglas Firs
I was in a school of
unconscious branches             
no light
and some white
caught only
from th
must be 

hands touching sometimes             like treetops        she said          (and thereby won a prize)

a breeze from deep in th forest
and an organism contemplates
a first book

            perhaps vain
            a turning eye

so tired of
treetop poems

jeans soaked in last nite’s campfire smoke
still caught
in th deep throat
of a quiet stand of trees

# posted by hardyf : 10:51