crickets scrimmage among a warped whirl. Dust swirls
roots soar as sweat pours; a womb woven man unravels
the roughest quilt East of the Rockies; doomed Southern
spider eyes saw me shaking shade and they
scrambled spider legs that held dirty peace.
xxxxxxxI melt the crust; now it’s hell under ten trimmed nails.
This soil isn’t worth being buried in.
Two hands from one man
choke an axe handle and
two skinny farm-tanned
limbs: a sharp shovel—
are displacing denizens
xxxxxxxby the millions.
This soul doesn’t deserve this soil.
A man makes earth dance—spreads
an angled way for bright white sewer pipes.
Plucking out caulk rock: unveil pearls; pull
some fair foliage as hair from a mane. A man
taming ‘shrooms and soot since
trees can’t slip out nil nutrient
topsoil: take leafs
to the breeze and where
xxxxxxxfive vultures glide
over the toil: staining creation—
their shadows approve of man’s destruction
Lording over this soil:
I might die—gladly
they won’t let me be
buried in this soil.