Neon vines, crawl from rooftops

Up the railings of

Stairways

To various

Heavens,

And then down through yards,

Spliced to an array of ecstatic extension cords,

Like

Silent patchwork snakes,

Constricting otherwise healthy trunks of adolescent trees.

The effervescent scent of florescence shines brighter than any

Desert metropolis

Populated primarily by palm trees.

And disillusioned spotlights.

Carpenter ants crawl round’ the wires,

Easily walking these electric tightropes,

Traversing these eventual nooses.

Avoiding the  infinite depths of the canopy though ,

And all its transcendent residents.

Other indications of inaccessibility,

Are present, too.

Neon signs tacked to adjacent trees,

Burned out long ago,

(To the chagrin of no one but the sun)

Provide a  steady transition from the remnants of holiday cheer,

Into a confusing portrait of antiquity.

Best viewed through cracked lenses.

Dilapidated lawn gnomes,

Whose ceramic faces

And faded red hats,

Now glow a pale green with an eager fungus.

Stand guard at the base of

The nervous trees now consumed with both  bark-beetles and Ohms.

These shaking saplings,

These  uncharacteristic Christmas trees,

Wrapped in color and buzzing with hornets,

Year round,

Bent, by nature,

Year round.

But shackled by skeletons.

These tangled giants

Will begin to   burn silently,

To burn sweetly.

And the neighbors who watch from bedroom windows,

These neighbors  who watch from across the street,

Who own boats but never sail them,

Wait for an opportunity,

A chance  to catch the trees

In a state of incapacitation & leisure

 & possibly to find

Pastel easter eggs that were hidden in the morning,

(Before pancakes and church)

With ambitions  that they would never be found later in the  evening.

(Even after a hot shower and headache)