The Desert Is Infected

The cold Earth is opening.
The desert is infected.

Starving cacti throb with hunger;
the land sweats poverty through
cracks in the street.

Ants are in a glass jar.
I gather them,
preach to them;
let them pray in the hot sun.
Then, I kneel as one of
God’s knights
and slaughter each with a slow dime.

Money is priceless.
So is time.
The desert is infected.

16 thoughts on “The Desert Is Infected

  1. Maggie,

    I can relate to the ants. How many times have I felt that I was trapped beneath a brutal sun, praying as I was baking alive… What strange preachers came to me in those moments. Beautiful, wonderful, dangerous messengers. Wounded messengers.

  2. I happen to be living in a desert now πŸ™‚
    The imagery is pretty rich, and accurate. Did you visit a desert recently?

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