clear-felled logic and ring-barked reasoning,
with a curse and a laugh you signed the draft
and tendered a bill for willful resignation.
Wreck and reckoning
in a moment of truth and revulsion,
he peers through the walls and sees
shock and awe and diamond-edged saws,
white-knuckle drive through mud and moving trees
do whatever you please
to escalate and engage
thermonuclear debate on the sixth page
spread side down on the floor
crying milk spilled and existentially exhausted
and a hundred other domestic catastrophes,
an apocalypse with cereal on the side.
There are no forests anymore,
just golf-courses that need new members.