Friday, August 24, 2012
Another Way Of Outrage
Let my body go to dust
and the iron in my blood lay down
into rust on your sweeping modern vision.
The bright steel slowly
pitting like the sockets of my eyes
and like all that dies.
Let me rot
in the fungal alchemy, among the soil and leaves,
what few are left
among these thwarted plans
of the forest. Stand,
I will not; I will rust and rot
while the concrete structures rise,
false canyons echoing the traffic
of souls and pain, the Earth made rigid
and ready for crumbling ruin
beneath the reaping waste I will become.