stillfugue

The giant orange bear
eats pink frosting. He flies
with torn and hidden wings,
painting evergreen needles until they
die, until they fall away to the forest floor,

and they grow the earth with the detritus
of the greedy bear. His paint, a dark oil,
covers all that is near, and each day,
he works mightily to grow bigger and
bigger, and the needles, they protest

like sheep, perhaps silently, as they fall and
tumble to their deaths, those tender moments
feeding the orange furry mess with swords
for claws. The giant orange bear demands
that the needles move in ways they can’t

move and demands that the needles
not move with the wind, but instead, that
they cater to his regulatory whims, which do
nothing but twist the needles so they suffer
poignantly before their ultimate oily deaths.

.