Sun's going down and I'm trying my hardest not to think
of the walk back and enjoy the nature.
It's a littered mess, though.
With discarded refrigerators, tree glass, the paper cups,
products consumed and departed.
And it's hard to feel one with the wood,
but it's easy as well,
we're just like the trash.
our millennial fashion clashes with the fallen leaves,
and our indie rock from our portable,
doesn't blend in with the pebbles.
I sit on a tree, turned over
while the sun gets lower.
I've got this eminent feeling,
that this trip back we'll be keeling.
The trees are still bare but budding,
still it's something.
I imagine this is where I should breathe,
the extra oxygen.
But all I smell is city air.