To a Petroleum Thief


These lamps hold no memory—


of pregnant mountains


for life-rich ores,

and acid rain

        dribbled traces

                    into streams,


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.


Prev | Next
Portfolio Index
Poetry Index