destruct destroy the damaged goods the wolves called man are running fast and blank their eyes cut the mother her brown blood dripping pooling at their heels the roughshod feet rip and gouge her tender face and the four footed bound away to hide and stare at bloody humans with a gun with grenades or a shovel weapons of war that make the earth a barren garden of blasted landscape choked with the debris of our greed greed for her tender bones for her lovely standing people that gather in groves and shade her face greed for her space the surface of her to twist and do what we will and already humanity boils forth like ants out of an ant hill jackhammers going saws flying pour the concrete blast the rock wipe your tainted feet upon her throat for man is a ravenous hound that roams the earth far and wide never satisfied with simple gifts the gifts of food and light and air no there’s got to be more of her to use more that can be utilized galvanized burnt twisted and shaped to fit the mindless purposes of man and where will we go when all of her is gone nothing left but a poisoned landscape in a yellow sky who will comfort us in our time of need where will we go now with our ravenous thirst for conquest as we wander the graveyard we call mother and cry her name to the sky
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SHERRY BOX considers herself a way-out, in-tune, God-consciousness, “Peace, Brother”, 60’s tunes, lover and liver (li-ver not liver) of life. Her church family is very important to her, and her grandson, Patrick, is her heart. She lives in Oklahoma City, OK, and when not working in social services, she loves writing, creating different types of artwork, working in her garden, and camping in the Fall.
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