[Split Eight]

there's beauty in the soft of decay.
boston. in plain, plastic bags and
rained acid splashes. smog. summer haze.
the bay laps up the ashes. but only cause nature
lacks any formal expression for human disgust.
so the fauna conducts a foray into the ruins of rust,
ants gently parade through the bluing of guns-
it's funny, how these microcosms go unobserved,
humans passing by are involved in whole other worlds,
with coasts of azure. forests so lush,
you could farm them to stumps for so many decades
it would yet take four generations for a fourth of an acre
to be warmed by the sun. maybe more, at the rate that
these postings go up- on reddit, your media served,
here's the barrier reef, its species submerged in crystalline depths,
glistening like iridium, pure. so lucid. unsealed, fluid so still,
the rays don't begin to converge, the resolution's unreal.
revolution, the feel- despite global warming, pollution,
and mounting concern- that we haven't seen the big picture yet.
in our own little worlds, this is self-importance is the shell
from seeing the bliss we've afforded ourselves.