Amanda Woronecki
Death Lands

If you asked me to cut your back in half and let you linger in pain,
I would do this for you out of love.
Twisted sheet metal like eyes, silver hints of doves gone out to look
for land.
Wonder out of your loneliness. There grows a cave in the distance.
We must hide from placid shrapnel.
Supple but chic, grieve for grovers in the greener country side.
Warmer pastures of subtle shame, naked in clouds’ shadows for me.
A blanket of goat fur covers you and I.
A fire brimming on the edge of the endangered town guides us far out of gloom.
Take this mushroom and eat it, it’s the body of the earth and lifts
you up to grow like trees. No leaves tremble as we walk down a path.
Pine trees tingle with volcanic ashes.
We are dusted with poisonous white flakes to remind us
of the days we killed our young and fed them to fires; we were dumb.
Yet, not so incompetent that we knew we had to survive.
Weaker ones must be sacrificed. Houses of glum, we are bums,
shelter for wolves, scarce of pooling waters.
All the land is thirsting for our fresh blood.
Brewing below granite rock is sweet lava.
The pine trees look as though they ooze lava instead of sap.
I am glad to eat a delusional snack.