I, poet whore,
wait patiently
on a dark horse,
watching shifting desert winds,
leaning over
I lift the tear soaked sands....
and drink the poison
deeply
regretting each drop
the whore stamps impatiently
morphing pantherlike...
scanning the ever
shrinking
horizon of locust death
bodies wrapped in
blood red linen,
knife like arc of
release...
she bleeds out
as the
panther rips
still living flesh
from humanities
carelessness....
beyond is eternity
sweetly I gather
you to my flesh
and whisper...
it is done