Wood Woes

"Woe unto him that says to the wood, Awake; to the dumb stone, Arise..."

Let stilted curses in faux Olde English
Work like highbrow poetics in bar brawls.

Let high-brow poets borrowing old words
From lost vernaculars be hanged as dogs.

Let dogs bred out to the edge of wolfdom,
Tame as men, howl wordlessly as poets.

Let every howling thing that goes around
Keep going, as the moon drifts from the earth.

Let the going moon sputter like curses
On this world lacking foul words for dark woods.

Let sleeping woods lie to their roots,
To the last dead leaf's serrated black teeth.