how literature murders

sundered cord
am now a dwarf in a giant world
at loss
in the dark wood of mustard
how great the trees are!

i thought i was on the climb
from root to stem
on bark to branch
it was terribly a tiny thin weak twig i kept hold of myself
aching my back i fell badly on the brown earth

i thought i was on the progress
from nil to muse
on rocket to launch
it was the detached fuel chamber i was in
less than half way through the great journey i was bashed
drop on the mongolian plain, painfully lashed

wild-eyed at literary
what an illiterate