little fires burn
throughout the whole
small polluting pits
of ash and ache
black insatiable hunger
make the ever-world
dark shadow of itself

if only the trees would die
then no wood to consume
no fuel for the flames
no air, no nothing at all
pure, acid-rain clear

but what of the hands
that toss the branches?
no one ever saw a log
throw itself to oblivion

no not once…