Author Information
Diagnosis
My lawn is the hair of the earth
Sprouting from the soiling scalp
To make a full head of hair
My trees her fingers
Clawing deep into the wind
My rocks but tears welled and firm
But rolling down the mountain cheeks
In the all-american avalanche
For the pain but throbs her tender heart
As the virus spreads
Constructing smog cities
To cluster poison to her lungs
And the epidemic kills her slowly off
Humanitosis makes earth's slow sweet decay
The doctor's final diagnosis
