5804. THE LAST LOGGER KING

THE LAST LOGGER KING

I am the fellow who cut down the last tree, 

the one you all heard falling  -  the cut that 

was heard around the world. Firestorm, 

barnstormer, sturm und drang, that's me. 

You don't need water, and you don't need trees.

See that my words are heeded, please  -  stop

worshipping oaks and stop praising the woods.

-

It's better this way  -  we can sit in traffic and watch

the haze as it ripples in heat past our winshielded 

eyes. All this nature stuff was such a drag  -  the

idea of recurring seasons, the new breath of Spring,

all that rot. Let it go : welcome my new form of

Winter with the Devil's own highway smile.

Be still, my dead heart, be still.