Tuesday, November 23, 2010

For Those Who Have Too Much


for Apotemnophilia

You are the owner
Of 50 beautiful acres
And all you think about
Are the taxes

The land is fertile and to the southeast
And there you are certain
You have murders and clouds
And sand the color of incest

And somehow it’s you who are out of place
You who never once asked
Why your dreams are a two-way street
Why that dotted line makes all the difference