Mother Earth
Mother Earth,
let me swim inside your liquid womb and drown.
Civilizations of cars,
smog infested creatures,
black tar lawns,
sidewalks make strange designs for dizzy minds.
She's dying slowly beneath,
countless human pace,
the ground hurts,
and bleeds,
and cries.
Is this real?
Relatives of spring children hold secret meetings inside caves,
rodent corpse will speak tonight.
The world is dressed in ruins,
looking for a king or god. She's on the verge of death,
consumed,
tired,
and callus.
Her city plays electric sounds for wanton ears.
A panther roamed the hallways,
with vision for night, dragon insect green with golden pyramids,
luxuriant abode.
Cactus money machine,
desert voyeurs,
midnight testimony.
We're born with freedom,
with fever,
with fear,
like garden flowers in soft spring with limbs made of stone.
We're alive,
would you believe me if I told you?
Are you really there,
or are you dead,
dressed in a cruel costume?
Staci Luton
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