Here’s what I have so far. Should I continue?

I’m thinking about making it a 7 part poem, 25 lines per part. Below are the first two parts.
.
.
“Crapocalypse”
Stephen Rodriguez

The world has grown a cancer of itself
that spreads on rural landscapes, rural minds
and breaks them of the dear and healthy soil
that wasn’t made through labor. As he sits
and scrubs the patch of oil from his shoe,
I cannot help but wonder at his stance.
If something superficial has the strength
to knock him off his balance, will he feel
the gust of troubled thoughts that carve away
the roots he hasn’t planted? Polarized
enough to be ignored; he’ll be of oil.
And she, in darkened lenses, will she see
the world cast into light? Perhaps she’ll think
the sun has only gained another volt,
then turn away. I’ll call but won’t break through
the ear-bud’s noise. The Stop sign on my street
was stolen seven times before the city
gave up and left it stolen, now the rule
has been agreed upon, don’t ever stop
especially when there is more to gain.
But what is there to gain? I turn my eyes
at clocks that flash a warning that the time
is either right or wrong, by how I choose.
I close my eyes and open them again
to see the world through someone else’s mind:

This land is growing warmer. Soon, the bees
will disappear completely. Flowers, fruits,
will halt en masse. The farmer holds an orange
and feels it wither in his grasp. The left
will run from tree to tree with cotton swabs,
creating new religions based on pollen.
That inch-worm on the stem will have to go!
I’ll sit upon a park bench with a glass
of lemonade and hold a knife in sight
for anyone who dares approach my cup.
Scurvy! Scurvy! Dentists will proclaim
a new apocalypse on dental health.
No teeth, we’ll have to live on paste until
we’ve found an economic substitute.
I’ll open up a lime-stand if the crowds
see fit for such investment. Sure the limes
are second-rate, but how could you avoid
a deal like this! Your checkbooks at this time.
The bees will be preserved in jars of honey,
a logo for the ones who claim that they,
with proper funding, can provide solutions,
replace the bees someday. A giant factory
and pinwheel that distributes man-made pollen
to hungry little trees. A new beginning,
a final resting place. Please, buy a Honda.