Victoria-Grove - April 2006

Birch seeds fallen on concrete.
Can't grow through the cracks of the density,
Fir trees trapped,
& burts bees on my cracked lips.
Chapped spirits.
We stroll on asphalt faded soles.
A familiar dream, manicured to the seam,
Perfectly cut and clean.
Can't eat ornamental food it's too crude
With pesticides they hide the truth,
So we believe it not fit to consume.
And who are you to tell me what to do?
Your judgments make you the fool.
"Preserving" trees in padlocked schools,
Where no-one dares to break the rules.
Cause advertisements work,
Those jerks are cruel.
Manipulate our stool, into toxic pools,
Of brown harbor jewels.
Feed me feed me, please,
I need to drown my fears,
In a sugar coated promise of utopian years..... and yet....
With every step I take away,
I feel the vibe change,
Rearrange.
Left behind the mange,
Of things that make me crazy.
Of places lost and hazy.
The city slowly phases out,
Mental drought,
Confused and doubtful,
Morphing into old growth camp pull.
A force undeniable.
Cedar trees call me, to celebrate the victory.
No more concrete.
A "lot" for the elite.
Penetrate no more, infiltrating force,
Cause here birch seeds fall on fertile soil,
And the elixer of life doesn't have to be boiled...