Tree boys pilfer feelings with antique cellos
And clear the thoughts of pale, stiff fellows
Like kisses and cold sores. Fasting on fruit all
Molding and going back to nature wither brutal

Skins reptilian and flint eyes durable.

Language crowds and pressures, but she feels
Like they aren’t hers, these small men arboreal.
Still caught up in baby talk through holes in the ground,
Still laughing out loud at the morning bell sound:

Christened gangrene and limping.

So I’ve been sailing boats
In foot deep moats beyond
My control, outside
My external singularity.

The bass player wears glasses and smokes
Lofty cigarettes, they never left this soaking
Sepulchral, toes-tied, rotting leg and tooth out
Sort of calm before, this terse presentation of gout

And constant forestation through molds.

Hiding fungus friends as if I’m an ant, as if I’m
Losing control, losing stance, out of time
And crawling through wooden instruments,
Pausing to lather myself in excrement

And cooing through croaks to doves who smoke.

My crass tree love
And palling past, slow
Down, let lax your mast,
And muse upon this rain at last.
I did not like the last stanza. It seemed tacked on, especially the third line, and I think it could use a revision. Actually, just the third and first line (though I did like the enjambment on slow down, that was well done)

Aside from that I thought it was great though. Very round about way of imagery and personality exploration, but really really cool. Yea, I really like what you did here, I think I'll go read it again.