drowning pool
a poem about narcissus
tempted by the sweet stench of
death,
blood-hungry,
man leans over the water
to gaze at his own image.
the pool darkens, he can’t see beneath its surface
God leers behind him, braced to push
for power does not observe,
it stirs fear and makes victims.
a six-mile chainsaw and a sullied forest floor
lumber as carnage,
clothing removed by force,
won’t somebody help her?
piled bodies to print the next autopenned celebrity memoir,
feed the landfill,
fire the excess into space while the rent is still cheap.
She won’t mind.
She’ll eyeroll, sigh, twist cloudy wisps around her finger,
dropping weight like a dream,
skinny and fatigued.
the thirsty thousands pray for a storm,
balance restored by force,
a wave to swallow Narcissus whole
but God isn’t listening,
so i have to hold his head under the water myself.