mmmmdcccxxviii

What a Wasteland

Such a pretty mouth
so afraid to speak.  I’d
open those lips with
unspoken consent.

Don’t say no to the
world you were given.
This decadence wasn’t
meant to last.  If only

I would have been fore
warned of that.  Lest
you think me a pig, my
love is harder than you

could ever feel, my heart
is wider than can be con
cealed.  I’d fall upon the
ground if I knew which

crater, what quicksand,
what lava-filled cavern
led the way to anything
with which I could give in

to, even if such binding
be my foregone conclusion.
This confounding country
which I for years misunder

stood with tears of joyous
lust upon your mountains
and lush wetlands, your
gardens bred with sweet

onions and potatoes, your
creek-brimmed pastures
and mesmerizing desert.
And here, where you 

allow such endless slaps
to your precious cheeks,
your dissolving face, too
late for me to see you

as you truly are, impos
sible to treasure what
would have been such
an exhilarating connection,

now that I love you so
completely, you are all
but eviscerated, fevered,
gouged, and excavated

by this poisonous divisive
throng you once invited
into house and home who
now live like feral rats who

scuttle blindly under floor
boards and within your
hallowed walls.  Where,
if only, might I go?  I’d

travel anywhere you say
to become your very heart,
if but to beat for you an
extra hour, a solitary sec

cond longer.  But as it is, I’ll 

never know.  I failed to know. 

And with such inexcusable 

guilt I do surrender.