Untitled #73

I want to masturbate
into a frenzy of dirt
rising out of the plains –
the guts of my soul.
I want to fill the spaces
between the lands with
my seed, forever rolling
and forever loving.
I want to tie my tongue
in knots of grape vines
held by string elicited
by my children’s fingers,
frail in their 18 hour joy
behind the man’s spinning wheel.
I want to crawl along streets
devoid of apathy
where plows dig earth
like razors on my tongue,
my soul,
shredded by them,
slaughtered as acceptable.
I want to lie with the condemned
on their way from the feed lot
to the slaughter house –
I want to see my body
on top of me
soiling me with cheap blades
and hooks for my ankles.
I want to hold this whore,
raped and battered
black eyes the eclipse
of the sun’s light.