Swizzle Stick

Its green & fertile rise

I have carpeted my ceiling
with artificial grass, looking up
to a verdant expanse
never in want of mowing

I have papered my walls
with rampant frog-green ferns
that climb to the false sky of grass
like a show of amphibious hands

I have hung in my windows
unripe cotton, rippled skeins
filtering the daylight in the
breathless palest green

I have laid my every floor
with moss like lush velvet
& lichen like on gravestones
bringing my home back to nature

now I see my humid flesh
become chameleon
camouflaged as clover’s
three leaves rise
from my greening thighs
& I hear the drop of water
feel its green & fertile rise