Ryan said the trees were calling

Ryan said the trees were calling out so many times that I wanted to believe him wondering what their voices sound like and was it just the stump gnome throwing tricks into our camplight stirring at the edge of the fire with little tongues forked & flamed incessantly licking the wind in protest as long as the devil is fed. if the trees are calling you must shut them out as sentinels earning your cracks into curiosities wide awake since the first time I opened an eye. The Great God Pan is psilocybin smiling in a divorced moms bathroom mirror locked away for transfiguration becoming a werewolf. the door is open the door is wide there are trees on the other side there are trees in my eyes and my brother poised for an entrance his body black against the deeper black blurring two voids into the sound of a voice tethered to the sound of my voice falling into a spell watching the fire.