2026, Days, Ohio River Valley Literature, the no-scape

obsessed with the tired formality of trees

centuries standing down the ridge / them that are left after tornadoes and fire and heavy snow / some wavering the wind the way / tired old soldiers might / after seeing too much fallen timber / towards the creek that some say / leads to a heaven of endless arteries / guarded by eternal sycamores

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Mick Parsons
Mick Parsons

Poet. Essayist. Fictioner. Steamboat fireman. Bit of a grackle.

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2025, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry, sonnet

we are at war with the trees

data centers sprout like liberty gardens
we are at war with the trees
fiber optic roots stretch underground
a jungle of power lines overhead

we are at war with the trees
Congress is extending the hunting season
since we can’t trust the animals
and the subversive nature of fish

is well documented // fiber optic roots eat
into the subfloor of our most sacred monuments
but we have bought off the rats
and legions guard the tendrils tying us together

the jungle is all copper two and three phase
we are constructing equitorial power plants
big pharma is solving our addiction
to free-range oxygen // beware the fish

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2024, Ohio River Valley Literature, poetry

Timber Jesus

Take the cool morning breeze for what it is:
a tease a memory like an awkward prom date
30 years after. Rise to the day
the way a fallen tree might if Christ was a Lebanese Cedar knowing full well
you’ll end up with some bloody corpse
strapped to your back.

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