The Burgundy Ficus Tree

A box so new in fabrication
The window will the mountain taken
Upon the ledge rest small shrubs and vines
And added to A Burgundy with auspicious lines

A single branch, some unworldy extension
Cast with the spirit of my fathers tension
The leaf grasped mind with its taunting gaze
It stared at me with a fiery blaze

Consumed in it my thought became
Until the egg cracked and spilled to tame

A pair of shears snipped through the node
And spilled it’s milky xylem woes
And through the air a shriek extended
It’s violent sound like some ghoul infested

As nutrition spilled one drip in time
The shrill tamer fell sour as lime
To pulverize it’s watching eyes
Became some cooling, mummified surprise

The branch became some mystical wand
Falling in hand in Walden’s pond
Began some journey in far off places
Deep into dim lit dark places

Crushing it fell upon my chest
My breath grew arduous my life a quest
Survival befell and creative spawn
Wild grew the once well kept lawn

So fast fell the edge of an iceberg shelf
Despite no eyes the Spirit kept itself
A ram grew strong inside my bone
As winter pushed on I fell alone

Estranged to thought of far-off worlds
Weather and storm no cloud alone
Grey in contention
Payne to pain

In water I sought some kindness and space
But immediacy grew Osiris’ case
And Mercury next to Solar
Long grew my face

As if Tragedy stopped me in place
At times great fight to keep eyes on Grace

Blue pressure blurred contemplation
Distraction, Irritation
A rash of sorts to hide the man with the warts
And hands that fell while complication attempt to thwart

Nevertheless which way to rise
Attempted dispelling, but no costume disguise
The Dancer and mu live on inside
And grandeur befell a Martian man wise

Settling a river outlet with sediment laid shelves
Tempted back annoyance amongst those inside themselves
A sacrifice made on behalf of androgen guidance
Left with training wheels un-greased
And a squeak, scratch, intolerance alliance

From blades as hard as diamonds
To a pile of withering clovers
Dug my insides to soliloquy
And left but friendships with the Rovers

That Burgundy Tree with its rubber rich milk
Was not the first, nor the last daemon stitched in the quilt
But amassed under them all
Despite hyperbaric grew still tall

As a path emerged from summer through fall
The leaf finally cleared as winter won over all
A peace fell upon that screeching call
And a quiet over that Spirit befall

363 stores in the mall
A good court and a mattress store began a slow crawl
And fell did the snipper into a lull

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This Poems Story

A haunted leaf that accosted me in my Aura apartment in the San Fernando valley.