Treetops reach up out of scattered poisons on the forest floor
Refuse and rejects left behind from a picnic in foreign sunlight
Lying unclaimed on earth that cannot bear its weight
Recoil from the unknown substance and nameless being
The touch that fills with fever and holds with a grip of rigor mortis
Stiff like the trees in a death that mimics life
Soft like the skin infused with what came from the sky
We are the mutants
Sifting through bottomless valleys of glowing fragments
Trash heaps with a dream inside of treasure we dig
Without care or wonder why the trees grow away from this place

Original Photo – Find me on Instagram @mitchel_ring

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