Digging from the roots up

[Eluoh]

I don't know--
Perhaps they could have done a little more,
felt a little more, shivered a little more
at the sound of the desperate call of the early morning;
that ghost-bitten yawn of life before the life of those
who refused to wake.
They cripple and harvest the roots
in search of something with appeal;
orphaning the dry field,
and you,
the dry field, bear no good soil for
those farmers and hounds of Thoreau
who lounge in their tacky suits with
god-like mouths.  

You found the grave of yourself under the overgrown
moon and howling fog, and beneath the beating of no heart cried
"Alive,
alive,
alive!"
in spite of the thickening thorns in your side,
in spite of the masses defecating in your good eyes,
in spite of the life you acquired at death's bedside.