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| By Henri Rousseau |
is not variety, does not mulch down
a complement of intimate support. Growth
stands between me & the sun, the branches
repeat endlessly the same ideas, the same form.
Rain comes through, I get the leach of it
colored by monotonous unstable leaves.
I thought these feelings into place & now
feelings have no place to thing their own.
The tree trunk is will, skeleton of earlier design
that leaves no room for breath or search or care.
A jungle has not heart. The core of it is to be more.
Response: I really like this poem, probably do to my affinity for connections in nature to human experience. Green is portrayed as a negative color, exhaustive, and grows from a sour core of "intimate support". Kelly sounds bored with his current state and uninspired. Perhaps in talking about "the tree trunk is will, skeleton of earlier design/ that leaves no room for breath or search or care" he speak of his teachings, and how they have limited him to where he is currently, though he wants to break out of that badly.
