A Meeting in the Woods

I’ve never cared 
for the enclosure of buildings 
where flowers stand; stunned in their vases 
and telephones drown out 
the language of bees 
and currency’s praised by the masses  

and people play scenes 
like they’re actors 
in a roguish, grand masquerade
where unscripted thunder 
and earthly wonder 
are cast in the vaporous shade  

and the pull
of the unfailing moon
is prevailed by the trappings of time 
which they watch on the face of a clock 
like a fisherman and his line  

and questions  
of north and south 
are replaced by the mapping of “goods”

now
before 
I dance my way out 
would you kindly point me to the woods? 

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