04 November 2015

peat moss

we should die so that i could get respite
but not
lose you in the emptiness if
their desiring eyes
canvas the curved territory of your saucy figure
fugues of indistinct harmonies
damp sucking

and she is thirsty in her one legged pants
hobbling from her cassava farmer's minefield
as nutty as we are to
that someone
or this union
could do something

many years ago arrogant lines drawn and plasticine explosive mines
planted in the peat moss

today she's crowned miss landmine
and tears aren't enough
to absorb
the neglect
of kissinger

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