Poetry

Garbage

Beeline branches clutch the stem left mute.
Ringlets dress Auburn leaves,
the asphalt burns my sweaty roots.

Heavy rusted winds dilute,
untrimmed trails push aside to deceive,
beeline branches clutch, the stem left mute.

Birds nestle, bunnies substitute
tender holes flutter as I disbelieve,
the asphalt burns my sweaty roots.

Ringlets leak quondam bruit
rugged shells hollowed which misconceives
beeline branches clutch, the stem left mute.

Shift through the hollow bark boots
pushing harder while droplets relieve
the asphalt burns my sweaty roots.

Sun basking amongst as leaves commutes
trusted lines break lunging to achieve.
Beeline branches clutch, the stem left mute.
The asphalt burns my sweaty roots.


I wrote this a year ago. I haven’t read it since I read it aloud in my poetry course. My professor wanted all the poems to have a title, I thought this poem was too forced, thus it being called ‘Garbage’.

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4 thoughts on “Garbage

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