Peter Richards

The Glass Tree

The glass tree left behind by a blossoming
tree waits in the debitage of its untaken
filament. Sulking, for other trees left behind
blossoming kingdom trees where some
nevertheless chromatic evil takes away moisture
until the subject is puma polishing the sign
for clear. O feline contamination forever
lounging in the poem where I relinquish
a tree which is the sainthood of a very tall
fang reflecting my glass based alternate
system for tree. At dusk I need to devour
newborns I gave to myself. No, I need to rest
here, upon this glass limb, the flick of my tail
conducting my rest.

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