This is how that poem is actually typed

Untitled

 I go off wrapping mine mind around trees

 in pink ribbon the ones I'll never climb

 the dead ones that must be removed

 when nothing can be made from it

 Once I put out fires with sand in bags

 from my trunk but it was just in my head

 burning and rising out of control from the gut

 when there will be so castles or moats

 any kind of bridge to get to the other side

 my mother had a painting burnt on wood

 glossy as that sky that bites down with teeth

 and leaves an imprint there in the middle

 Say my mind wrapped around the globe

 stretching with it across stormy seas

 you'd call that distance that aerial view that big picture

 nothing but surface and lines you don't want to cross

 Days pass and my mind is still

 the trees are waiting for something

 nothing but angry birds at times that stop only briefly

 s.m.g.