Middle Finger to This Earth High On Its Own Dust

Middle Finger to This Earth High On Its Own Dust


I hate this world with all its arrogance

—a basket of rotten fish high up on the shelf

of a room filled with flowers,


                               as if to say: all the fragrance on God’s

                               ploughed earth will never be enough

                               to hold this room away from my stench.


I have marked as enemy every field

that looks only into its own eye; that sees

nothing but the green of vines still deep


                               in its earth; not the halo in the sky;

                               not the small feet of the children dancing

                               in the glade. See,


I stopped loving this world when it opened

its rotten maw to swallow a gathering of boys—

boys who, though too young to know death,


                               knew enough of darkness—the boys,

                               they held out their dreams, as numerous

                               as the stars and willed each into a sun.


How else do I tell this mindless earth

that we do have a bone to pick? Yes, Earth

you, who chewed on the soft, buttery flesh


                               of hope, and spat out its bones,

                               the cornucopia like ugly dioramas 

                               in the museum of time.


You, who still had the guts to swallow

offerings of tears in the wake of the deaths,

your tongue, quick like an animal’s.


                              You took not only the boys.

                              You took their mothers’ joys. You take

                              everything. Why earth—


do you think yourself above all

in the many worlds, when, in fact, you lie

below our feet, hungry, like an abyss?


                               O Fate, I born myself again today

                               as a lightning in the hand of God. I

                               will lend across the sky a mirror


to remind the world of kindness,

and karma. I will not kiss the belly

of a wicked earth without a fight.

What are you looking for?