there, there; there is no land anywhere

there. now there will be
no caviar trees and frosted dirt
for mothers of nature to roll themselves in
there, there. that field was poorly painted
anyway; i wouldn't be so intoxicated by the stench
of its oils if i were you. it was to happen sooner or later
when beggar minds flushed its
waving subjects away which
drifted away
with the sneer of the chainsaw
and blackmailed bulldozer , it whinged as it
gathered green carpets and furniture of sticks;
- laughed at by bricks, and tiles,
greed, and symphonies of lost and sad birds
and all the things that fucked us senseless.