I was raised on the trunk of a tree

I was raised on the trunk of a tree
pure simplicity of birth
gave me wooden teeth
and an urge to bite through
and chew at wooden flesh.

And looking up: the web,
the mesh of all the branches
fed me thoughts of rising-up
chomping on free lunches
and filling-up and climbing-up.

I ate on all the paths
of twigs and sticks and rifts
between stem and restaurant stem
as, born on them, I ate on them
and ate until I burst

and passed a million bits of me
down on the tree and then the worst
was that my wooden soul fell last –
got caught on by the wind
and drag-drifted to the flat lands.

And landed – lost and sinned-
upon, and landed to be found
and landed with so many others
away from treeless grounds.