Every muscle aches, ones I didn’t know I had Beams across each palm where the bare handle sunk in I flipped out at the machine, barged it past points it seized Pushed and threw my might against it’s primitive, stubborn controls The grass outside is a mess You can’t say it’s not cut But you can’t say it’s better The miniature meadow with warm hued flowers bobbing on still green waves Tall weeds, made grand amongst their peers Shed their stigma, they aren’t ashamed here Grasshoppers in camouflage and lost ladybirds An eyeless striped caterpillar climbs to the peak of a bowing blade Curls up to the sky, extending to stretch, basking in the sunlight I cut it all down Not cleanly, not gracefully Arduous and ugly, thrashing and hacking I only hope this gave them all time to flee To feel the rumble of the end and take one last look at their home To feel lucky to have absorbed some measly beauty in such a short life It will grow back soon enough for me, a creaking pain to tend to But for them it will never exist again
Quit Vision 