Nurse Trees, Jacob Pries
What good is an ocean
without form, without function?
Tangled wires and dented sides,
broken-glass raindrops scattered,
like grains of sand evolved, something
just a decade or two down the line.
Open it up, plug it in,
break it down, throw it out,
like everything drowning unknowingly.
This is our Sahara, where possessions come
to die; horizons full of scrap iron and plastic
that stretch and spill into the past and
thrust themselves into the future.
This is our ocean.
This is our desert.
This is our legacy.