In the woods
Behind our house
Grows pop can, garbage,
And cardboard box groves.
Where wild weeds and gnarled trees
Hide beguiling treasure troves
Of turpentine, canisters, and chicken bones
Kaleidoscope bottles drift amongst wandering leaves
And make marvelous music beneath the eaves.
The bees are all drowsy, drunk on oil slicks and trash,
The cats are all foxes. The squirrels were once rats.
On the maps in my mind,
Which I jot down from time to time,
There are castles and witches
And towns and wells.
There are forests and deserts
And ocean swells.
And the scenery shifts
As the landscape decays
And the mindscape determines
The play of the day.