Tall Grass by Moxy Casimir

I’m fairways, pitches, turves and lawns
I’m mown and mutilated, shorn
the ‘lovely’ smells that I express
are stricken hormones of distress
I’m making chloroform not chlorophyll
that’s why the nodding daffodil
and ditto all those fumbling bees
and inert rural sceneries
no more bleeding grass stains out of me
I’m vanquishing Grass Enemies
the force that runs through my green cable
now builds a grass roots Bower of Babel