Oh thou, guerrilla-hearted, monkey-souled slaves!
Recycle – your abortions; your beer cans, condoms, candy-wrappers like leaves in grass; your vast mounds of baubles, gadgets, artifacts of waste.
Oh asphalt jungle children of nuclear rocket-birds and napalm-spitting insects. Oh top gun predators like razors ripping sky-blue sky, bombers shitting poison apples o’er Snow White’s virgin girl.
Oh believers of knowledge with your puerile faith in “them,” that “they’ll figure out something.”
“They,” of course, already have.
We were all so smart and fashionable. So technical, liberal and “free.”
Oh to be dumb again and naked.
The Tree of Knowledge was the first razed by the Land-Lord’s loggers. Great Gob, splattering beast blood, marked Life next for lumber.
“Beat it!” cried the Land-Lord, after Adam and Eve had known and shared — a pomegranate, or a pear. “Get ye jobs that ye may buy ye clothes — at retail! Suffer. Scram.”