Cuttin Grass, an anti-Ode

I mowed the grass in the rain, furiously.

I mowed backwards,
in circles,
in lines every which way.

I mowed one row a day for weeks, sinusoidally.

I burnt gas, killed grass, and had a hootin' of a noise.

I breathed gas and grass, killed a mock forest, generations of crusty beasts, and went deaf, logarithmically.

I filled landfills and stopped short the breath of plants, asthmatically.

A romantic union of thymine kissing wildly under ultraviolet skies; scleroderma, discretely, bit by bit, in time, me

I will've bought the cleanest, meanest cutting machine, before long.

And've evaporated hidden dew under the thicket, to water noon and night, automatically. .

I’ll piss away our grandchildren’s drinking water on a lawn I’ll kill next week.

Icebergs the size off Jamaica are lobbed off Antarctica and the dumpster is full of dead leaves.

I’ll kill the plants and poison the water.

I’ll spray carcinogens on dandelions--the highest known land source of Vitamin A

Let there be more CO2 and less oxygen

Environmental terrorism in the name of euclidean geometry.

I’ll be about to take pride in myself, because a man is as clean as his yard and his haircut, no stray blades, with a heavy foot on Nature and disdain for the common weed.

Because, people, we ought to pick our battles with Nature, and this, is a losing battle, a song to self destruction.

You baby boomers are fat and stupid.
Yall just need to die and get off my earth,
and stop trying to kill my children