To a Petroleum Thief

 

These lamps hold no memory—

 

of pregnant mountains

                              ravished

for life-rich ores,

and acid rain

        dribbled traces

                    into streams,

            contaminate

these brooks, sea

        icy salt and

              these rocks,

whose sleep will crush

you (& co.) deep

in my belly;

I’ll refine you

to burn as oil.

so kill.  dig.  drill

my stone skin.

I’ll wait

 

—until you run out of scapegoats.

 

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