The Midden Heap

Even the ungodly neon Target sign,
which glares through the gentle night like
a radioactive stinkbug–

Even the mound of tires, with its subtle fumes and
its plans to lay there and hulk
for the next two thousand years–

And even the battery acid, which oozes
like a laser knife out of the rotting
bowels of an abandoned camouflaged Humvee–

Even the sterile quarantine bunkers,
the wet wipes and the insulated hazmat
suits that look like a lab rat’s
idea of hell–

Even the diapers full
of fossilized human shit, the
dildos of bright purple silicone,
the plastic tampon applicators, the eternal
styrofoam beverage containers,
and the fruity flowery polyvinyl fucking
table cloths–

You cry crimes against nature?
Against Nature? We are Nature.
And these vile things,
which shall nonetheless remain
to impart our ancient
memories long after we have perished
and risen anew–

they are Nature too.
For they have sprung from our
wombs which have sprung from
the Earth’s. Even these

rotting rosetta stones
are her children.

They want not your redemption.

2022