Arizona

Matthew Boyle

Those vulture eyes
accuse me from the red rock ledge
so high—
where I know the natives danced
for rain
that never came.
Dead
permeates the place,
a mighty river torn to a trickle
and even that soon dies away.
The slaving sun sucks up the green—
now more precious than the gold
that drove us here for paper promises.

If only these hardened hands
could trade the satin blood of babes
to revel in the once-familiar splash
of life across this Martian earth,
could bargain with Satan
to savor the swift slip of liquid
down a shrinking throat
that long ago gave up the cry
of eloi, eloi
lama sabachthani.

 

Sky, Marissa Bergmann
"Sky," Marissa Bergmann
Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s