Resin Scent Resented/Harmless and Heard

In this ol factory residence, we resent the scent of resin,

residue staining our retinue when we want to walk free,

yet

if you run to the void and scream yourself clean, not even bark will hear and echo back your pain,

so you can’t be both harmless and heard,

you catch my drift?

You took yourself to a land of too much furniture

and made yourself stay, silent in a varnish haze,

collecting dust like a harvest vase,

bottling up all your distaste

and calling it an art form.

Get in, starving artist at the dinner,

get wet, cook your snipe recipe,

one part axe at the tree,

one part buzzcut leaves,

one part sap,

muffled clap,

take my brain home

to the canyon echo chamber

of my own dreams

instead of this

forest of silence,

this void

of rooted humans

quick to correct my

rushin’ tongue,

crushin’ my lungs,

fish me out a wish in a lamp,

hey genie,

will you grant me as many desires

as the number of times my cry echoes back from the resin trees?