THE TREE HEART 


You signified rebellion, 
signified mistrust and yelling,
why have these things, Tree Heart?
Why pave the way for crime to follow?
Why tug the heart until it's near to ripping?
Why pamper the child who's soon to smart
from time's sound whipping?
What purge of all the senses did you start,
dragging the river bottom called forth
such a black cloud of guilt, of art,
from the soggy bottom of my bed 
crawls thee, Tree heart, to smash
the lid off jars of cookies, off 
beetle's bodies, sister's dollies,
mangling everything you touch
Mangling the very heart
you dropped your seed in, or
flashed the brilliance of the rain to, 
or the pink hue that
remembers nothing of the night it's ending, 
the muddy shoes hung up from hunting,
the tears in their tissue bed a drying,
all these things hung about the tree
like tinsel, like raven's feet
across your face, when asleep,
you mangled in your hurriedness
to keep it simple,
purely everything.

I accuse you, now, Tree Heart
 of making hollow promise,
lashing the tired with their sins,
until the froth of decadence
like a foamy tide, descends,
from whence? From thine own
scraggly, leaf-let limbs.