(So much for updating daily–or even weekly or monthly, huh? Oh, well, regardless, here is a new poem. I like it, but I know it needs something between the next to last and last stanzas. That’s ok, though; this is a workshop blog, even if I don’t do a whole lot of working on it. This one is tentatively called “Wormwood.”)
Wormwood
I am a cancer.
A blight on your world,
a King Midas in reverse.
I am the red tide on your sea,
the phosgene in your air,
the sulfur in your rain,
the plutonium in your soil,
the black dust from a million volcanoes and burned bridges
that blots out your sun.
I am the spot you cannot wash out, Lady Macbeth,
though this not your fault
but mine.
I am your Sodom, your Gomorrah, your Bhopal,
your Chernobyl.
I am the Fifth Horsewoman.
I fell from the sky;
I slouched toward Bethlehem one cold November night,
Great Babylon reborn.
No, Love–
I will not say your name again;
I am not worthy.
